After the Battle
by Dicere
Summary: When it is all over, what happens next? Voldemort has been defeated, and our characters can go on with their lives, right?
1. The Immediate After

DISCLAIMER: The characters and their world are the property of J.K. Rowling. I hope she can forgive me for playing a game of what-if.

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"It's truly over, Albus?"

He stopped in the doorway of his study blinking at the woman who stood before him. "Minerva!" He had long before given up wondering how she could get into his study in his absence, but this time she should not have even been in Hogwarts. "You are supposed to be in St. Mungo's!" He moved quickly toward her and helped her gently into a chair.

"I couldn't stay there, Albus. No one there knew any more than I did, and the rumours were too confusing. I need to know, from you, whether it is truly over. And…" her voice faltered. "And who we lost."

He sat down near her, his legs too tired to stand anymore. "It is truly over, Minerva. Voldemort – is finally dead. And all the Death Eaters were either killed in the battle, or taken captive. The Wizengamot will begin their trials tomorrow."

She gave a shaky sigh.

"As for whom we lost – you would know more about that than I, having been in St. Mungo's. The final battlefield was a mess…" He couldn't continue his sentence. She knew – she had been there, fighting, before two Cruciatus curses had hit her at once, slamming her off her feet. He had tried to make it to her side, but he had been too far away; he had never in his life been so grateful to someone as to Hermione Granger, who had pulled her away from the thick of the fighting and Apparated them both to safety before the combined curses had succeeded in killing her – or driving her mad with their pain.

It had been a horrifying fight. The Death Eaters, knowing this was their last stand, had no compunction in using the Unforgivable Curses, killing and torturing their fellow wizards and witches. And laughing while they did so, screeching their defiance to their last breaths. People had been falling, screaming, bleeding, amid flashing magical lights and evil-smelling green and red smoke; and when any of them had fallen to the ground and stayed there, Dumbledore could only pray that they had been Stupified. There would be no way of knowing who was alive and who was not until all the bodies littering the grass were taken away.

"And – Harry?" Her voice brought him back.

"Harry is well; or perhaps I should say, he is well enough. They tried to take him to St. Mungo's, but he refused – he said they would be busy enough with the truly injured." He had also said there would be little enough they could do to help him, and Dumbledore knew that he was right, and so had let him be. Harry's wounds were not of a nature to allow the Healers to help; and there would be many other wizards and witches who would bear similar wounds all their lives. The battle was over, Voldemort was finally gone – but the pain would continue for many years.

She had been watching him closely. His clothes were a smouldering ruin, his beard charred off to within a few inches of his face. His long hair had somehow escaped the bolts of magical fire, and was still hanging over his shoulders in a white waterfall, though greyed thickly with the smoke. His eyes were creased with pain that she knew was not only physical, even though his voice was as soft and distant as always. It was his tiredness that struck her most. She had known Albus Dumbledore in his joy and in his sorrow, but never had she seen him so completely drained.

"Enough." She stood up, though painfully. He looked at her in surprise as she pointed her wand at him. "Scourgify."

He did not have time to blink before the spell hit him. And then it was gone; and his clothes, though still a ruin, were at least a clean ruin, his hair and what was left of his beard were white again, and he felt ridiculously better for such a simple thing.

"And now," she ordered, still managing to stand, "to bed."

"Minerva, I can't – "

"Yes, you can," she finished before he even had time to start his protestations. "There is nothing you can do until tomorrow, Albus. It is late, you are tired, and there is nothing you need so much as sleep." She was exhausted herself, but managed to make her next threat sound real. "And if you don't go to bed immediately, I shall be forced to make you regret arguing with me. And don't think I can't!"

A half-smile flitted across his face. "Merlin forfend I should ever think such a thing! You win, Minerva; I shall be a good little Gryffindor and do what my housemistress says. What of you? Can you make it back to St. Mungo's?"

Her head was already pounding with the pain of standing up. 'Of course, Albus; I'm perfectly capable of finding my way to the hospital."

He was watching her shrewdly. "I think not." He was as tired as she, but managed the spell nonetheless. "Lectum stenere." The chair vanished to become a single bed with thick fluffy blankets of red and gold. The huge pillow had a lioness' head embroidered upon it in gold thread.

It looked tempting, but she had to comment on his taste before giving in. "If you want to make the bed in Gryffindor colours, shouldn't that outlandish pillow have a lion's head instead?"

"Since the bed is for you, a lioness seemed appropriate – forever beautiful, courageous and loyal, and ready to die to defend her cubs."

She could think of nothing to say to that.

He watched her for a moment longer, then sighed. "Goodnight, Minerva. Sleep well." His bedroom door appeared, then closed gently behind him – and vanished again.

Somewhat stunned, Minerva McGonagall made her own slow preparations for bed, and finally fell within the inviting covers. The lioness' head felt remarkably comforting beneath her cheek.


	2. In the Watches of the Night

It was only a few hours later that she awoke and knew Albus was in pain.

She looked around, disoriented by the darkened study. Slivers of moonlight crept in through the diamond paned windows, barely enough to see by. It took her a minute or two to see that the bedroom door had reappeared.

"Albus?"

There was no sound, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. And the door would only have appeared if he had wanted it to… Before her common sense could catch up with her, she slipped out of the bed – "Ouch!" - painfully.

She hobbled through the door and hesitated.

There was a shape huddled beneath the bedclothes. As she watched, her common sense now telling her that she shouldn't be here, the shape emitted a low moan. Common sense held no sway at that.

"Lumos!" a startled Albus Dumbledore cried out as her hand touched his shoulder. Minerva McGonagall jumped ten feet without benefit of magic, blushing furiously as the bedroom candles sparkled into light.

"Minerva?"

"I heard you crying – I'm dreadfully sorry, I shouldn't have - "

"Minerva." He stopped for a moment, trying to work out what to say. Clad in her cream petticoat, with her surprisingly long hair in a plait down her back and her face suffused with the deepest blush he had ever seen on her face she looked very different from the Minerva McGonagall he had known for the past fifty years.

She tried to save him the trouble of speaking by wheeling around to run through the door – which had disappeared. She turned, now obviously aware of what she was wearing, and snapped, "Albus, please create that wretched door!"

"Accio dressing gown." His dressing gown, a fantastical creation in purple and gold, flew from his cupboard. He tossed it towards her.

She grabbed it and held it against herself quickly, but did not put it on. "If you would be so kind as to create the doorway back to your study, then there would be no need for me to borrow your clothes."

He made no move to do so.

She tried again. "I do apologise for coming in; I acted foolishly. Please create the door," her voice fairly crackled with ice at this request, "and we can both get back to sleep."

He gave a half-smile. "But as you observed, Minerva, I was not sleeping; I was – crying."

Her face softened dramatically.

"I think, just this one night, if you would feel comfortable, I should greatly prefer it if you stay." He took a deep breath. "Please, Minerva. Nothing would comfort me so much as having you near."

She struggled with it for a moment, then put the dressing gown on and belted it tightly. "This doesn't fit."

"I can shrink it if you'd like to keep it?"

"Don't you dare!" She looked shocked. "I have a perfectly good dressing gown of my own. Besides, this is too extravagant. And it isn't my colour."

"I think it looks quite wonderful." He meant it. The deep purple brought out the faint rose still lingering in her cheeks and made her look decades younger.

She snorted her opinion of his taste and, sitting on the edge of his bed, took his outstretched hand in both of hers. His face was etched deep with weariness. "I will be near you all night, Albus. Sleep now."

He looked at her, so tired herself. "And how will you sleep like that?"

"I don't have the Wizengamot to deal with in the morning. I can sleep then."

He shifted over in the bed. "Lie down."

"Albus!"

"Minerva. We have both had what is possibly the worst day of our lives, and we are both too old and too tired to worry about proprieties." He stopped, reconsidered. "Well, I am too old, and you are too tired. Please, lie down. You can stay on top of the bedclothes if it will satisfy your sense of decorum."

Her own sense of fatigue agreed with what he was saying. Still holding his hand, she manoeuvred herself carefully on top of the bed and lay rigidly near him. He smiled his thanks as she uttered her last shot. "With your dressing gown, I don't need blankets. It wraps around me twice, and is a foot too long to boot!"

With a shrug and a half laugh, he finally closed his eyes. In a few minutes he had fallen asleep, still holding her hand.

She could not find rest so easily. She had never shared a bed before, and the sensation of company was not comfortable. She gazed around the candlelit chamber, and wondered whether she should put out the lights. After a while, she decided against it. She had not been crying, but she still felt the effects of the day, and a fully darkened room was not something she wanted just then. It was too easy for the nightmares to find you in the dark.

Albus moaned softly. She looked over at him anxiously, but he was still deeply asleep. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze to reassure him she was there. In response he rolled over and encircled her with his free arm. She started to try to extricate herself, but then she felt his tears wetting her hair. Against her cheek he muttered a word – her name?

Awkwardly her arms rose up around his back and cradled him against her as he cried the tears that could not come out while he was awake. In unconscious response his own arms tightened around her, and the tears eventually stopped.

In a close embrace with Albus Dumbledore, wrapped in his dressing gown and lying atop his bed, Minerva McGonagall found a dreamless sleep with an ease that surprised her.


	3. The Morning Cometh

It was late when Albus Dumbledore woke; but he woke with Minerva McGonagall in his arms.

Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other and their bodies fitted so closely even despite the bedclothes and his dressing gown that, though he had a deep disinclination to disturb her, he could not suppress a small chuckle.

"Ah, my Minerva," he breathed, shifting his head to let hers rest more comfortably on his shoulder, "it would appear neither of us is as invulnerable as we attempt to seem. At the very worst and the very best of times, we cling to each other – and our bodies know it, even when our minds refuse it."

She snorted into what was left of his beard. His eyes flew downwards, but she was still asleep; however the parallel between the sound and her probable alert responce set off another deep chuckle, and this time her eyelids fluttered.

Even though he knew she would not be pleased he could not summon the will to loosen their embrace. And strangely her own arms did not move an inch, even when she yawned through a mouthful of beard.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," he said gravely.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," she replied, equally formally, her voice slightly scratchy from sleep. Her head did not shift from his shoulder.

"You slept well, I trust?"

"Quite well, thank you." He felt absurdly happy at that. She moved slightly to look up at him. "I may borrow your dressing gown again – should I ever need a sleeping bag."

The chuckles hit again. "It is always at your disposal." She seemed ready to get up; he held her just a moment longer. "Minerva – I owe you a great debt. Thank you for staying with me this last night."

Her eyelids fluttered down. "If there are thanks to be said," she said slowly, "then they are to go both ways." She looked up at him again. "Being with you was a comfort for me as well."

Their faces were scant inches apart.

"Professor Dumbledore!" The frantic call echoed through the chamber. "Professor Dumbledore!"

They let go of each other, and moved together through the reappeared doorway. "Come in!" Dumbledore cried.

Professor Snape entered Dumbledore's study at a run. His eyes widened with shock as he took in the unexpected occupant – Professor McGonagall, wrapped in Dumbledore's distinctive dressing gown, her hair in a somewhat mussed plait. And Dumbledore, clad only in his nightshirt.

"Severus? What is it?" Dumbledore seemed supremely unconcerned by the situation, but McGonagall noticed how Snape's eyes travelled the room, taking in the sight of her own clothes tossed on what was now a red and gold chair. Her eyes narrowed as he shot another quick look at her, then turned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Sir. We've just got the news. There was a riot at Azkaban last night."

Her irritation with Snape was immediately forgotten. "What happened?"

He kept his eyes on Dumbledore. "A large group of wizards decided to pre-empt the Wizengamot's verdicts and deal with the Death Eaters themselves. Since the Dementors are no longer employed by the Ministry of Magic, there was really nothing there to stop them breaking into Azkaban. The guards didn't stand a chance. Actually," his lip curled, "few of them tried hard to defend it. I can only suppose they felt the mob had a point."

"Merlin!" She sank into the red and gold chair.

"We haven't received all the information yet; from what we have heard, it is certain that most of the Death Eaters were murdered. But in the excitement of the riot, some of them escaped."

All the lines the night had lifted from Albus Dumbledore's face had returned. "Whom?"

"I don't know." Snape almost spat the admission.

"I shall have to go to the Ministry of Magic immediately. Professor McGonagall, I leave the school in your capable hands."

She nodded.

"Let me go with you." Snape's voice made it a demand.

"No, Severus. If any of the Death Eaters were in Voldemort's confidence, then they will know you had a great deal to do with their defeat. You are a target, and I am not willing to risk your safety."

Snape struggled visibly with this, then nodded angrily. "But if they do not know I betrayed them – "

"Have no fear, Severus. I will not hesitate to ask you to risk your life yet again." Of his two hearers, only one realised the pain with which he spoke those words. Snape took them at their face value.

"You have no need to ask."

"Professor Snape." McGonagall cut in. "Mobs generally don't just 'happen'. Was there a particular person who put these wizards up to it?"

Dumbledore leaned forward as Snape frowned. "That is what I don't understand. What my informant tells me doesn't make any sense."

"Which is?" McGonagall prompted.

"That the person who incited the mob was Cornelius Fudge."


	4. The First Day

"Cornelius Fudge? The Minister of Magic?" Professor McGonagall's jaw snapped shut. "Your informant must be mistaken!"

"As I said," Snape said with a slight edge to his voice, "I don't understand it myself. But my informant is generally very reliable, and she assures me that seven of the wizards who led the mob to Azkaban were seen talking to Fudge in the Hog's Head late last night; and the attack happened only a few hours after. She isn't certain that there is a connection, but her investigations have turned up nothing else that could serve as a catalyst."

Dumbledore sighed softly. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus. Fudge may have made some bad decisions in the past, but I will not believe this of him without substantial proof. He is not an evil man."

Snape inclined his head. 'I have instructed my informant to continue her searches, Headmaster. It may have been, despite Professor McGonagall's assertion that this sort of thing doesn't just happen, that the executions were in fact a spontaneous event, and the Minister's conversation an innocent occurrence."

"Indeed, it is possible; on the subject of Voldemort's supporters, tempers shall be very high in the wizarding community for some time to come," Dumbledore mused. "However, whatever the cause of the executions, we have escaped Death Eaters to deal with. I shall go to the Ministry now and find out what has happened. If you can both meet me here after supper, we can discuss things further." He moved towards the empty fireplace.

Both McGonagall and Snape cleared their throats at the same time. Dumbledore turned back inquiringly.

"Professor, perhaps you would care to change first?" Snape pointed out.

Dumbledore looked down at his nightshirt and chuckled. "Indeed. Well spotted, Severus." The bedroom doorway reappeared and Dumbledore disappeared through it, calling as he went, "I will see you both this evening."

Snape and McGonagall were left alone in the Headmaster's study. He gave her a long considering look, and she pursed her lips. "I came back from St. Mungo's to find out what had happened. Since it was late, and my own rooms have still not been repaired, the Headmaster kindly let me sleep in his study."

'Of course," Snape said dryly. "It is a nuisance that one cannot Apparate within Hogwarts, isn't it?"

"Sometimes, yes," she agreed. "However, the protection it affords us has proven very valuable in the last few years."

"Indeed." He gave her an indecipherable last look and moved to the study door. He paused there, and said, "However, the Headmaster's intimate apparel does appear to suit you quite well." His eyes narrowed.

Her face was a picture of outrage.

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The Ministry of Magic was alive with a wild celebration when Dumbledore appeared. Masses of people were streaming through the atrium, hugging each other, waving copies of the Daily Prophet from which blared the headline 'Voldemort Gone for Good!' Dumbledore was reminded of a similar celebration almost twenty years ago, when Voldemort had suffered his first defeat. But this time it was certain; the Daily Prophet had crossed the bounds of good taste and even had a photograph of the body to satisfy any lingering doubts. Dumbledore averted his eyes from it.

When he was spotted making his way through the thick crowd, a roar of approval went up. Suddenly he was surrounded by beaming faces, hands waving towards him begging to be shaken. An unintelligible yelling surrounded him: he could only make out a few of the most often repeated phrases. "Well done, Dumbledore!" "You did it!"

He held up his hands for silence, and after a short while the cries of approval died down. Everyone wanted to hear what he had to say.

'My friends, the war is finally over, because of the bravery of many people. Some of those people are with us still; but others had to give their lives to save us from a terrible menace. Let today be one of celebration, yes, but also of remembrance for those who are no longer here to share the celebration, but who have the greatest right to."

While the crowd was silent, working through what he had said, he managed to slip through them and into the main offices.

In Fudge's anteroom there was also a crowd of people, but the atmosphere here was very different. Several people sat alone in the seats, sobbing quietly. Others had congregated into small groups, comforting each other. They did not seem to notice Dumbledore enter.

He saw Arthur Weasley, red eyed, staring glassily at nothing, and moved over to him. "Arthur," he said quietly.

"Oh, Dumbledore." Arthur Weasley's voice seemed to come from far away.

"Why aren't you with Molly and your family, Arthur?"

"I got summoned this morning… told I had to come in today to receive… to receive a citation for Ch-Charlie's br-bravery –" Arthur broke down then, and Dumbledore held him as he cried helplessly.

An aide came towards them. 'Professor Dumbledore, the Minister will see you now."

"In a moment," Dumbledore replied gently, still holding the sobbing Arthur.

"Professor, you can't keep the Minister waiting!"

Dumbledore looked at him, and the aide quickly retreated.

Arthur drew away, wiping his face on his sleeve. 'No, he's right, Dumbledore, you'd better get in there," he hiccoughed, looking ashamed. "I'll be all right."

"Are you certain, Arthur?"

"Yes. I'll get through this, and then get back to Molly. She and Ginny need me right now." Arthur's eyes had regained some of their focus, and they stared at Dumbledore determinedly.

"If there is ever anything I can do -"

Arthur nodded. Both men shook hands gravely. Then Dumbledore started to move towards the Minister's office, stopping every few steps to talk to those faces he knew - and he knew many of them. Words of condolence were useless, so he did not say them, but his feelings could be read without words. It took him quite some time to reach the Minister's office, but none of the aides dared to interrupt him again.

"Dumbledore. It is good to see you." Cornelius Fudge looked like he had not slept at all.

"And you," Dumbledore replied. "Cornelius, why are there grieving people in your anteroom?"

Fudge brightened a little. "We're giving them citations."

"Which is a good idea," Dumbledore said gently, "but is now really the best time?"

"Of course it is! We have to let them know how much we appreciate their bravery and their sacrifice! The sooner they know how much the magical community supports them, the better!"

Dumbledore sighed, shook his head slightly, but said nothing. It was too late in any case – the damage was done. Better that they got this over and done with than to be asked to go home and face it again later.

The brightness faded from Fudge's face, to be replaced with grim tiredness. "But I don't think you came to talk about the citations. We now have the names of the escaped Death Eaters.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Peter Pettigrew."


	5. Her First Day

Alone at last, Minerva McGonagall quickly Transfigured her clothing from last night into an acceptable clean teaching gown and dressed with a sense of relief. She folded Albus' dressing gown and neatly placed in on the red and gold chair. Her hair quickly arranged itself into its usual tight bun as she exited the Headmaster's study and walked swiftly to the Great Hall.

The students were all there, awaiting breakfast. She stood by her chair and gently tapped her glass to bring the excited buzz to silence.

"I have an announcement to make." The students and teachers waited expectantly. "The rumours you have doubtlessly heard are true. Lord Voldemort is dead, and the Wizard War is finally over."

The room erupted into a vast cheer at the official announcement. Tables were thumped in joy, people leapt up from their seats to hug one another. Professor Flitwick gave the beaming Madam Pomfrey a smacking kiss on the cheek. Even Snape smiled slightly to see the happiness in the room.

She waited for quite some time for the excitement to subside. When the noise had reached a level that would let her be heard, she raised her voice again. "In honour of the occasion, today and tomorrow are to be holidays. Those people who would like to go to their families may see me after breakfast to arrange transportation. Those students who would like to visit Hogsmeade have permission to do so and the prefects of your houses will take you there. Other students are free to do as they will within the grounds – and within reason."

This announcement also raised a cheer. Smiling herself, she took her seat. Professor Flitwick leaned past Madame Pomfrey. "But, Minerva, where is Albus?" he squeaked. "I would have thought he would be here, today of all days!"

"I'm afraid he couldn't stay, Professor; he was called to the Ministry of Magic earlier this morning."

Snape sneered. "Professor McGonagall, of course, knows the Headmaster's movements… intimately."

The inference passed Professor Flitwick by completely, but both Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey's jaws dropped open, and their heads swiveled as one to stare at McGonagall.

She breathed in deeply. And arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure what you mean, Professor Snape?"

"Simply a comment on how well informed you are on the subject of our Headmaster." Snape's mouth twitched as he took a sip from his goblet. "Of course, that's quite a bit easier for you than for the other members of staff."

Now even Professor Flitwick was staring. "Severus? What are you talking about?"

"Professor Snape!" She snapped out his name. "May I talk with you in the corridor for a moment?" Without waiting for his reply she swept from the Hall.

He joined her a few seconds later. "Is there something wrong, Professor?"

She suppressed the urge to kill him then and there – but only just. "I did not appreciate what you were trying to infer in there!"

"Oh?"

"I explained to you the circumstances of this morning!" she said in a furious whisper. "What you were implying in there was, was-"

"Was the truth," he finished calmly. "Don't insult my intelligence, Professor."

Her mouth opened, but absolutely nothing came out. When she could not come up with a response Snape shrugged and walked back into the Hall to finish his breakfast. She did not follow him. Suddenly she had no appetite.

****************************

Her day went from bad to worse.

Madam Hooch gave her a wide knowing smile when she went out to watch the impromptu Quidditch match. Going back inside, she walked in on Madam Pomfrey and Professor Trelawney huddled in a corridor. When they saw her, they sprang apart like guilty students; but not before she had heard Madam Pomfrey say she had always known it, and Sybil Trelawney reply that it was fated in the stars they would come together.

Of course when staff exchange gossip in corridors, students are quick to learn its contents. By evening Professor McGonagall had good reason to curse her acute hearing. Snippets of overheard conversation haunted her.

"No, it's true! Snape caught them actually - you know"

"Eww! That's sick!"

"Why? I think it's sweet"and

"Why are you surprised? They're always together, you know."

"Yes, but she's the Deputy Head, right? They have to be together."

"So? You think that if Snape were the Deputy, Dumbledore would want to spend that much time with him?"

A momentary pause, then finally, "Good point." and, even worse

"Apparently it's been going on for years. But they had to keep it secret because they didn't want You Know Who to know."

"Now he's dead, do you think they'll get married?"

"I guess so. Probably."

"Ooh, maybe we could be bridesmaids!"

Every student she met looked at her as if they had never seen her before. A few of the more brazen amongst them dropped their gazes to her hands – as if to find a Muggle engagement ring there.

She ground her teeth and had to firmly suppress a Snape-like urge to dock points – irrespective of house – at the speed of light. Finally she gave up and went for refuge up to her temporary quarters in the Ravenclaw tower. Along her way there she passed through Professor Binns, who looked at her as if he had seen a ghost. Such an attitude coming from him did nothing to improve her temper.

She could not settle to her work, finding that her normally disciplined mind kept interrupting her thoughts with possible curses for use on one Severus Snape. She threw away her quill, with a decidedly Muggle curse, just as the dinner bell sent a soft lingering note throughout the castle.

On entering the Great Hall she made her way to her place at a brisk march, meeting every look with a steely stare.

Dumbledore, already seated, smiled at her. "Good evening, Professor McGonagall."

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

He leaned closer to her. "You are right to look worried, Minerva."

She looked sharply at him.

"My time at the Ministry was quite troubling," he confided in a low voice. "You, Severus and I have much to discuss after dinner." He gave her a last grave look, and then turned his attention to his food.

McGonagall caught Madam Pomfrey's beaming smile of motherly approval, which was quite ridiculous considering their respective ages, but it failed to worry her greatly. More important subjects were now flooding her mind. She looked down at the far end of the table and caught Snape watching her.

He was about to display his patented slight sneer when he saw her eyes and his face instead took on a frown. He knew that look in Minerva McGonagall's eyes. It said, "Trouble is coming."


	6. The Evening

"My visit with Cornelius was very unsettling." Dumbledore began speaking the moment Snape and McGonagall entered his study. The lack of his usual vague preamble convinced them both this was serious, and they sat without a word.

"Cornelius has indeed sent to remaining Aurors on a hunt for the escaped Death Eaters. But he has sent them to the furthest corners of France, Russia, and Asia, claiming none of the escapees would dare to stay in England."

"It does make sense, Professor," Snape mused. "After all, once they had made their escape from the magical environs of Azkaban they could Apparate anywhere they chose. With Voldemort dead there is no reason for them to stay in England, and every reason not to."

"Not when the three escaped Death Eaters are Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore said grimly.

Snape's hands clenched together whitely; McGonagall drew in a slow, deep breath. Both were horrified.

"I am quite certain," Dumbledore continued, "that Lucius will attempt to succeed where Voldemort failed; and he can only do that here in England."

"Indeed." Snape's voice was a velvet snarl. "In his own peculiar way, Lucius has always been – a patriot. He would never leave England."

"Peter Pettigrew will follow anyone who is stronger than himself." McGonagall's voice was ice. "He's proved that true all his life. Right now, Malfoy is the only person interested in keeping him alive."

"And Bellatrix was fanatically devoted to Voldemort," Dumbledore concluded. "She will see Lucius as Voldemort's natural successor, the only one able to continue his work.

"They will be in England, and there is no one hunting them here! Severus, I must ask you to begin this search, and to leave no stone unturned." He paused. "Yet again I must ask you to go into great danger, but these three must be found – at all costs."

Snape's eyes glittered with excitement. "I will begin at once, Headmaster." He bowed slightly and made to leave the room.

"Wait!" McGonagall cried out. "You may want to begin your search, Severus, with the house of Sirius Black."

"Our old headquarters?" He stared at her.

"For a Slytherin, you were always profoundly ignorant of the wizarding genealogies." She ticked off the points. "Firstly, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were sisters, and their maiden names were Black. Bellatrix in particular has always been very proud of that fact. Secondly, now that the Order has been disbanded the house is unoccupied, and Bellatrix might feel she has the right to claim it. And finally, as Bellatrix and Malfoy would both well know, there is no more secure house in England – and both of them are among the few people that the house would allow to enter it."

"Brilliant." For once there was no irony either Snape's voice or in the bow he made her – the same bow that he usually reserved for Dumbledore.

He looked back at the Headmaster. "I'll send word through the usual channels."

Dumbledore raised a hand gravely in blessing. "Until then, Severus."

Snape vanished through the doorway. Professor McGonagall rose as if to follow him, but at Dumbledore's slight headshake she sat again.

"Minerva, there is worse news." He paused, and then rose from behind his desk. "But I should rather discuss it with you as my friend than tell you about it as your Headmaster." He picked up his wand and waved it.

The chair Minerva McGonagall was seated upon grew around her until it was a large, squashy armchair. A similar comfortable chair popped into existence just opposite. Suddenly there was a small table in between them with tea things neatly arranged upon a silver tray.

Dumbledore frowned slightly. The tongue of the teapot immediately sent up vapours of steam and the small dish became filled with dark biscuits. He smiled faintly in satisfaction and seated himself, reaching for the teapot.

"That reminds me, Albus." She reached out her hand for the cup he offered her. "Why did you change this chair back from the couch this morning?"

"I'm afraid I didn't."

"Well, I certainly didn't!"

"Ah." He took a sip from his cup. "Then I must admit I am at something of a loss to explain it. Perhaps my Transfiguration spell was incorrect."

She snorted. "Now why would I find that difficult to believe about the only wizard to ever receive two hundred and five percent on his NEWT level Transfiguration exam?"

He raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. "How did you ever find out about that?"

"Once Professor Marchbanks told me that you did things with a wand during that exam that even she had never seen before, I looked up the records." Enjoying the rather bashful look on his face she took a sip of her own tea and frowned. "Albus, why is it you always make the tea too sweet?"

"'Sweets for the sweet', isn't that the saying?"

"A foolish one, then. I am not 'sweet'."

"No," he mused. "No, sweet isn't really the right term to describe you, Minerva. Would you settle for remarkable?"

Under normal circumstances she would have immediately shot back a retort, though secretly the compliment would have pleased her. But the knowledge of what the school believed, coupled with the unusual awakening this morning – she couldn't stop an uncomfortable flush creeping up her cheeks.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Minerva, is there something wrong?"

"No." She shifted slightly in her chair. "No, nothing." But her voice sounded unconvincing to her own ears.

He waited for her to explain. But she could not. She snapped her head up sharply. "You said there was worse news?"

He gave her a long considering look, but she obviously would not discuss the cause of her distress. "Yes. After my talk with Cornelius I was fortunate enough to meet with Miss Skeeter, who is now back with The Daily Prophet."

"That creature?" As an Animagus herself, McGonagall had been outraged over Rita's forgiveness by the Ministry, no matter how useful it had eventually proved. "What did she want?"

"To ask me how I felt about being the next Minister of Magic."

She felt her heart sink. "Oh, Albus."

"Apparently popular opinion on the subject is very much in my favour. The wizarding community feels that since I orchestrated the resistance to Voldemort, I am the best person to lead us all into 'a new age of peace and cooperation.' Miss Skeeter was quite enthusiastic. The Daily Prophet intends to run many articles on the subject and are even planning on organising a popular vote."

"Oh, Albus."

He laid his cup on the table. "Minerva, wasn't once enough?"

"After Grindlewald, when you were asked to be the Minister of Magic, and instead you supported Fudge," she confirmed.

"I have no wish for that position, Minerva. I never have. I am selfish, I will admit it. Here, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I have all I could ever want; you beside me, able to watch our children grow and learn. It is everything that makes me happiest.

"And why else have we fought all these years against those who would use their powers for darkness, if not for the right to choose, and to be able to strive for happiness?"

He looked at her as if hoping for an answer. She could give him none.

"There is another, hopefully less selfish reason for me to refuse this. I am too powerful a wizard for this position; yet this is precisely why the wizarding community wants me, and that is why it would be so wrong for me to take it. The Minister of Magic must be someone that can be argued with. It is the cornerstone of democracy. We have just fought a war to prevent the despotism of Voldemort; would they truly wish to finish that war by embracing a despot, albeit a benevolent one?"

It was her turn to sigh. "I do not know what to tell you, Albus. The only thing which is clear to me is that support for Cornelius Fudge to continue as Minister of Magic is obviously small. People believe he has become too enamoured of the power of it."

"I fear you are right." Her commonsense words helped him to regain his equanimity. His cup refilled itself and he brought it to his lips. "But I cannot and will not take this position."

"They will try very hard to make you change your mind on this," she warned him. "Because if the Minister of Magic is not you, and if it is not Fudge, then who else can it be?"

"I do not know," said Dumbledore. Suddenly the cup stopped halfway to his lips – and very faintly he began to smile.


	7. Into the Night

She laughed when he told her his idea. "Albus, you are mad!"

"So I've been told many times." He twinkled at her. "But you must admit the idea has merit."

"Nonsense! The idea is – quite outrageous!"

"Is it?" he asked her calmly. "You do yourself a disservice by thinking so. You are known throughout the wizarding community, Minerva McGonagall. Known for your ability, your intelligence, and your absolute fairness. And everyone now also knows of your fearlessness through your work for the order – and your courage on the battlefield. You have all the abilities required to make an exceptional Minister of Magic – in truth, you would be much better than I could ever hope to be. How is such an idea outrageous?"

She stood up, too unnerved to continue sitting. "It's still ridiculous. I have no political experience nor any inclination in that direction."

"Have you not, Minerva? As a student I remember you as ambitious; and you have risen to be the very best Deputy Hogwarts has ever had. But your abilities are exceptional, Professor McGonagall, and you have not yet reached their limit. You are one of the greatest witches alive; are you truly content to spend your life at Hogwarts?"

"Yes!"

He held up his hand. "Please, Minerva, think on this. Do not give an immediate answer. Consider what you could achieve as the Minister of Magic."

"I do not need to consider it, Albus." Her voice was low and forceful. She reseated herself, took a deep breath, tried to regain a sense of calm. "The answer is always going to be no. Like you, I am happiest at Hogwarts. And I will not leave it."

He sighed. "That is well enough for someone as old as I am, Minerva. You are still young; too young to make the decision to stay in one place for the rest of your life."

She laughed in derision. "One hundred and forty does not make you an ancient, Albus Dumbledore – not when we both know that you are powerful enough to live for at least another hundred years. As for my being too young to know my own mind, I should remind you that in another week I shall be seventy three, which is not an age known for youthful foolishness. Indeed, by Muggle standards, I'm the ancient one! And I tell you I am staying here."

He looked at the obstinate expression on her face and threw his hands in the air in surrender. "I yield! And, I will admit, I am somewhat relieved. I still believe that it would have been a most elegant solution; but I should hate to think of Hogwarts without you."

At a wave of his hand the loaded table between them vanished. He stood up and extended his hands to her. Taking them, she rose. "I will not leave Hogwarts, Albus."

"As you have made very clear." He kept hold of her hands. "And I am selfishly glad of it. You are my dearest friend, Minerva McGonagall; I trust you and rely on you more than you could ever know. And I –" He stopped, embarrassed, and released her. But she did not move away.

Looking deeply into his eyes, she said words she did not know she had the courage to say. "And you are my dearest friend, Albus Dumbledore." She took one of his larger hands in both her own small ones. "If it were only a question of leaving Hogwarts, then maybe, if I felt it would be for the greater good, then I could leave. But I will not leave you."

His eyes widened. Twining his long fingers around her hand he gently raised it to his lips and kissed her palm. A strange, pleasant feeling went through her at the touch of his lips.

Only a day ago she would never have thought of doing this; but a day ago she had not spent the entire day with the school buzzing of a supposed affair between herself and Albus, nor had she spent a night cradled in his arms. As he raised his head from her hand she felt herself move forward a few inches closer and raised her head to his. And kissed him.

For a moment only their lips touched tentatively. Then she felt his arms wind themselves around her waist and pull her closer, and her own arms reach toward him. And it seemed forever they stayed there, holding and kissing each other, and she was washed over with the strongest happiness she had ever known.

She never wanted it to end, and when he pulled away she heard herself moan softly in protest. And the sound of – applause?

The pictures on the wall! The former Headmasters and Headmistresses were clapping and cheering their encouragement! And the damned chair had changed back into a bed!

The crimson blush of the deepest embarrassment of her life flooded her skin. Refusing to look at Albus she ran as she had not in years, at a furious speed down the stairs and toward the safety of her temporary room in the Ravenclaw tower, where she could bury her head in the pillows of her narrow bed to hide her shame.

Albus watched her go, knowing there was no point in trying to stop her. Throwing the pictures on the wall a look of blackest fury he marched towards his bedroom and shut the door firmly. There he stood, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

But he could not make sense of it without reliving their kiss, or the feelings that had arisen in him as he had held her, kissed her, touched her… and when his mind replayed the small sound she had made when he had finally lifted his head he could not prevent a small smile from blossoming on his face. Perhaps the dream he had never allowed himself to consider was not so impossible after all?

She would want to forget it had ever happened; he knew her very well. Would it be so very wrong not to allow that?

"My Minerva," he said aloud, as he had said in his mind a thousand times, and wondered if the words were a prophecy.

*********************************************

In the abandoned study there was silence. Then a small voice spoke up. "In retrospect, the bed was probably a mistake."

From the wall came Phineas Nigellus' sneering voice. "Oh, and cheering like idiots wasn't?"

"Don't be smart, Phineas." Dilys Derwent lounged gracefully against her frame. "We've been watching those two young fools dance around each other for decades. Who can blame us for losing a little self control when they finally realised what they mean to each other?"

Armando Dippet sighed. "And Merlin knows it's taken them long enough to get around to it. Dumbledore wasn't this thick when he was a student!" He sat back on his painted chair with a sigh of discouragement.

"Time enough – and enough effort from you romantic lot. Opening the doorway to his bedroom last night, and then refusing to let her out; changing the bed back to a chair and back to a bed again just now… We are only pictures, in case you haven't noticed," Phineas pointed out. "We have a limited amount of magical ability, and you are all wasting it on nonsense."

"Good point," Dilys said briskly. "So let's not waste yours, Phineas. Why don't you mosey along to the Black house and find out if anyone's home? Let's see if we can get a glimpse of these escaped Death Eaters."

Phineas drew himself up. "I only have to take orders from the current Headmaster, Dilys."

"True," Dilys' voice was pleasant. 'But the dear boy's a little confused right now and isn't thinking straight enough to issue the order. So you'll take the order from me in his stead, won't you, Phineas dear?"

"No, I will not – ouch!"

"I'm sorry, you said something?"

"How the hell did you do that?" His voice was outraged – and a little scared.

"Never mind how I did it," Dilys said calmly. "It's enough that I did – and that you know I can do it again if necessary. Run along, Phineas."

They could hear his grumbling fade away as he left his portrait.

"As for these two, I could kick the silly girl for running away like that! Never mind, though." Dilys Derwent's face had an expression on it that used to make students and teachers alike run for cover. "I'll have those two together if I have to lock them in this study for the next century!"

Armando looked at her fondly. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Dilys."

"Why, Armando dear, as if you ever could."

The two pictures smiled at each other and, along with the other portraits, waited for Phineas Nigellus to come back with news.


	8. The Morning after the Night Before

Dumbledore spent a sleepless night, yet when he emerged into his study his eyes held their customary twinkle. The portraits immediately began yammering at him.

"Wait! Wait, please!" He held up his hands to quell the din. "Dilys, can you tell me what is going on?"

"Well, for a start," Dilys began in her usual forthright manner, "what were you thinking, letting Minerva leave like that last night? However, set that aside for a moment. Phineas Nigellus has something to tell you."

A fake snore emanated softly from Phineas's portrait.

"Phineas!" Several other voices, all indignant, joined Dilys' call.

"What?" Phineas Nigellus slowly fluttered his eyelashes. "You want me for something?"

"Tell Dumbledore what you saw last night." Dilys spoke in a tone that said she would brook no argument.

"Last night? Oh, yes, last night." Phineas mused. "Last night, while these other idiots were messing up your love life – such as it is, of course – I did a little reconnaissance. Are you aware, Headmaster, that those three escaped Death Eaters are, in fact, within my family home?"

Dumbledore looked up eagerly, but as Phineas continued his story his face became as set as stone.

"You are sure?" he asked at the end.

"Completely," Phineas confirmed smugly. "They're in the room where my portrait hangs. I saw everything."

"I shall have to inform Severus and Minerva immediately," Dumbledore said quietly. "And then I shall have to deal with Cornelius Fudge."

Severus Snape was, for once, easy to find. His face appeared in the fire only a minute after Dumbledore had cast the spell.

"Headmaster. I was just going to contact you." Snape's veneer of cynicism had been laid aside. "Professor McGonagall was right in her guess. They are in the Black house – and there is another person with them. I warded the area, but another wizard Apparated there late last night, and left a few hours later."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I know. Listen carefully, Severus." And he told Snape of Phineas Nigellus' findings. When he had finished Snape, for possibly the first time in his life, was left speechless.

"Guard the area," Dumbledore instructed. "Let him come and go unhampered, but make sure they do not leave the house. If they are Apparated anywhere else we may lose track of them, and all this will have been for naught."

Snape nodded dumbly.

"And Severus – if you can avoid it, do not enter the house. If the situation is anything close to what Phineas Nigellus has described, then we are dealing with a true madman. I am certain he will not hesitate to kill you to keep his secret safe."

"Professor Dumbledore," Snape's voice was almost weak with shock. "This is unbelievable."

"Yes. But it is true. That it is unbelievable simply makes it worse."

Snape nodded. "Yes."

"You fully understand my instructions?"

Again a nod.

"Then please continue. I will tell Professor McGonagall of this and we can decide the best way to go forward." Dumbledore raised his hand to the fire and Snape's flickering head. "Go safely, Severus."

The flames winked out. Dumbledore got up from the fireplace feeling a hundred years older. Now he had to face Minerva.

Her usual sixth sense of knowing when he needed her obviously wasn't working this morning, or she would have been in his study already. After a moment's thought he sent Fawkes out to look for her. The phoenix listened gravely to his request then flew straight out the window toward the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore frowned. What could she be doing out there?

When she arrived in his study some twenty minutes later, her robe traced with mud and a liberal sprinkling of dead leaves, he asked her.

"Walking," was her short reply.

"But you hate the forest. In fact you hate anything which has the remotest connection to dirt. The pot plant I gave you for Christmas one year you Transfigured into a bottle of ink!"

"I prefer gifts which have some useful purpose. And I needed a bottle of ink."

"It was a very rare plant," he informed her gently. "Professor Sprout went into fits when she heard what you had done to it."

The response was classic acerbic McGonagall. "Then you would have done better to have given it to her!"

Dumbledore could not help himself, despite the trouble that was before them. His first real smile of the day came breaking through.

She frowned more deeply when she saw his smile and he immediately sobered, knowing the cause. "Minerva, about what occurred between us-"

"If that is what you called me here to discuss, Professor Dumbledore, then you are wasting both our times."

"It is not all I wish to discuss," he replied calmly. "There is some news I have just received which you must know – and time is short. But I feel the most important issue should be discussed first – and that issue is us."

She sighed in resignation and sat. "I apologise for-"

"Why?"

She stared at him. "Why did I kiss you?"

"No, Minerva. Why would you apologise? You must have noticed that your kiss was not unwelcome." He looked at her cautiously and said very hesitantly, "In fact, I hope… that is, I should very much like it if… if it were to happen again."

She gaped at him. "Albus Dumbledore, are you saying you would like to – court me?"

"Yes! Yes, precisely."

She watched him for a moment, and he wondered nervously just what she was seeing. Then her mouth began to lift upwards at one corner and he felt the most enormous surge of relief.

"So long as no pot plants are involved," she said thoughtfully, "then I suppose it couldn't do any harm."

"Ah. No pot plants then."

"None."

"May I take it, Professor Minerva McGonagall, that I have permission to court you?"

She inclined her head with mock gravity. "You have that permission, Professor Albus Dumbledore."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

"Oh, how romantic," snapped a disappointed Armando Dippet from his wall. "Would you two like to shake hands on it, just to conclude the deal?"

"Don't worry too much about their current formality, Armando dear," said the more tolerant Dilys Derwent. "If what we saw last night is any indication it won't last for long." She gave an earthy chuckle.

Minerva eyed the portraits frostily. "Professor Dumbledore, I am told it is customary for the courted woman to set down certain conditions for her suitor to meet in order to test his sincerity."

He considered her claim. "I have limited knowledge of such things; but yes, I believe you are right."

"Good. Then my first condition to you is that this courting business takes place as far from this study as possible!"

With a twinkle in his eyes he nodded. "I think that quite a good idea, and a condition that will be definitely met."

A muttered word issued from Dilys' portrait. It wasn't 'witch', but it sounded very much like it.

Minerva and Albus smiled at each other with a familiar shared amusement tinged by a new and rather pleasant excitement. But his smile faded quickly when he realised that despite his current happiness he could not put off telling her what Phineas had discovered any longer.

She was quick to sense his change of mood. "What else do you have to tell me, Albus?"

He sighed, reluctant. She prodded him gently. "You said that time was short."

"Yes, it is; and decisions will need to be made quickly. The three Death Eaters are indeed hidden in the Black house - but they are not alone. A fourth person is involved with them." He stopped.

She leaned forward. "Who is it?"

He spoke the name with immense reluctance. "Cornelius Fudge."


	9. Still Morning, and Trouble Cometh

When he had told her all that Phineas Nigellus had witnessed in the Black house she looked appalled, and faintly sick.

"Merlin," she swore. "This is horrifying, Albus. Cornelius Fudge? The Minister of Magic? There have been many times when I'll admit I did not think as highly of him as you, but this…"

"Yes," he admitted heavily. "It appears my trust was greatly misplaced. But he was not an evil man, Minerva. I believe the power of his position has turned him towards evil, and his fear of losing that power spurred him to – this."

"I disagree." She said it simply. "Oh, I'll admit that the plot itself is not so inherently evil. We can guess Cornelius was the one who incited the Azkaban riots, just as Professor Snape's informant originally thought. Under cover of the riots he must have smuggled Lucius, Bellatrix, and Peter out and hidden them in the old Black house. What is planned next, given the Daily Prophet's lead article this morning, is obvious."

"I am afraid I have not yet had the pleasure of reading the newspaper," he admitted. "Accio Daily Prophet!" It appeared in his outstretched hand and he unfolded it. Staring out at him from the front page was his own face and a huge headline. "DUMBLEDORE OUR HERO – and our next MM?" Scowling slightly he made the newspaper vanish.

"Cornelius is, if nothing else, a very good politician. He would have realised long ago this might happen," Professor McGonagall continued her explanation. "So he decided to – what is the phrase – 'take out some insurance' to keep his position. No, none of that is shocking in itself; it is an evil a man could be drawn into, bit by bit, and still think he was not doing anything so very wrong.

"But what Phineas described as happening in that house… no, Albus. Those are the actions of a depraved man, and that depravity was born in him. Until now it has just never had the opportunity to come out."

He was horrified. "I cannot believe that! I cannot!"

"You must." Her hand reached across the desk to clasp his, but her voice was uncompromising. "You gave him your friendship and your trust. You helped him in every way you could. But he is not worthy of it. At the end, at the last test, he has proven himself rotten at the core.

"This is not your fault, Albus." She gave his hand a final squeeze and let it go. "It is his flaw."

He looked into her dark eyes, soft with sombre compassion. "I wish you were not right."

"I know."

"What shall we do, Minerva?"

"You know what we have to do." She leaned back slightly, upright in the hard-backed chair. "We have to stop him. We must catch him with the Death Eaters in front of witnesses, and confront him with what he has done."

He nodded. The study room was aglow with soft morning light; sunbeams were reflecting off dark wooden picture frames, warming the soft leather binding of ancient books, caught finally in Minerva's silken hair. _His_ Minerva's silken hair. It seemed a scene ill suited to the darkness of his thoughts.

He thought of Cornelius Fudge, the man he had trusted. Had it not been for him and his deeds, at this moment, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore would have been completely happy. As it was… "I suppose there is no other way."

"There is none. He cannot be allowed to continue as Minister of Magic."

"So I shall alert Severus." He motioned to Fawkes and a few moments later the phoenix sped away. "When Cornelius next breaks through Severus' wards he shall warn us through Fawkes. We can then gather as many members of the Wizengamot as we can and go into the house ourselves." He sighed. "In the meantime we must wait."

"Well," she said briskly, "there's little point in waiting around here."

He stared at her perplexedly.

She rose from her chair. "This courting of ours. I believe long walks together are an established tradition?"

He rose also. "You wish to go for a walk?"

"With you. Yes."

"Why?"

"Because my robe already has dirt on it, so it won't damage it much more if we went wandering around the lake. Besides," she added pointedly, a certain glimmer of mischief in her eyes, "you interrupted my walk in the Forest this morning, and I wish to continue it."

"But now, Minerva?"

"Fawkes' warning will find you wherever you are. And I won't leave you here miserable." Minerva had a very determined expression on her face. "So if you are serious about courting me, Albus Dumbledore, then come and walk with me. Watch as our students enjoy their holiday."

He finally smiled, and came around his desk towards her. "I am very serious about courting you, Minerva McGonagall." He came by her side and extended his arm. "And it shall be my very great pleasure to walk with you."

Smiling herself she took his arm. They stood there a moment in the warm sunlight, forgetting for a few seconds the trouble surrounding them in the strange wonder of their changed relationship, expressed only in their entwining hands. Then, the doorway obligingly enlarging itself to let them through, they left the study together.

************************************

In the empty room there echoed a soft sigh.

"What's wrong now, Dilys?" snapped Phineas.

"Nothing whatsoever, Phineas dear," replied a serenely smiling Dilys Derwent. "I'm just happy, that's all."

"So," said a grinning Armando Dippet. "Do you think our boy will be all right after all, Dilys?"

"Oh, yes." Dilys' smile was almost dreamy. "She has a touch more bark on her than I would perhaps like – but all in all, gentlemen, once this current crisis is over, I think those two will be just fine."

And the portraits, all smiling, were content for the moment to leave it at that.


	10. What Occurs after Midnight

It was after midnight that Fawkes' warning came.

They were sitting once again in Dumbledore's study, drinking from the endless supply of tea. Professor McGonagall's eyelids had been slowly fluttering closed for some time; despite her protests Dumbledore had transfigured her chair back into the red and gold couch and she was now dozing comfortably. Albus Dumbledore himself sat still in his chair, sipping the tea and enjoying the sight of Minerva curled up in his study, her face gentle in sleep. And waiting.

Then came the flash – and a single red and gold feather fluttered to the floor. "Minerva!"

She woke and looked at him. "It's time?"

"We shall have to contact the Wizengamot quickly; we can't be sure of how long he'll stay in the house."

Her lip curled. "If he's running true to form, we'll have some hours yet."

He chose not to answer that, but instead raised the crystal ball he had been holding on his lap above his head. The words he spoke were new to Minerva, but she knew they were a summons. The crystal began to emit a bright pulsing light; a few minutes later the images of faces began to form in the stream of light.

"Dumbledore? Professor McGonagall?" Minerva knew the speaker – Madam Bones. Her niece, Susan, had been in Hogwarts only a few years ago. "What in Merlin's name is going on?"

"We have found the missing Death-Eaters," Dumbledore informed them calmly. "They are hidden within the Black house in London. We need your help in recapturing them."

"Our help?"

"Why not call the Aurors? This is their sort of thing, isn't it?"

"At this hour of the morning?"

Dumbledore raised his hands to quell the babble and the crystal light shifted wildly. "Please, please!" He realised what he was doing to the light and steadied it. Several of the faces now looked slightly green. "I believe this to be the responsibility of the Wizengamot, not of the Aurors; and it is vital we act now. If you will focus yourself on Severus Snape and Apparate to him, I can assure you that you will soon understand everything."

Several of the images looked dubious. Madam Bones raised an inquiring eyebrow. 'Well, Dumbledore, you've never led us wrong before." She sighed. "I _am_ going to get dressed first though. I'll see the rest of you there." With that her image flickered out.

There were some muttered grumbles, but the images quickly started to disappear. In a few seconds the room was empty of them.

Minerva McGonagall turned to Albus and raised her own eyebrow. "You didn't tell them it was Fudge."

"It would have meant too many questions," he admitted. 'Better, perhaps, that they see with their own eyes. Some will not come, but there should be enough of the Circle to convince those others." He looked around the room quizzically, and without speaking she handed him his wand. "Thank you." He noticed she had her own wand out and ready. "You insist upon coming, then?"

"You were going to try and talk me out of it?" She sounded surprised.

"Not with any hope of success. But Minerva, I do not know what we will have to face. There could be danger."

"I know." Her mouth quirked. "Which is why I'm not prepared to let you go alone, Albus Dumbledore. Now, are we going to Floo out, or walk to the edge of the Forest and apparate?"

"Neither." He opened the window to let Fawkes in. "Take hold of my hand."

Gripping her hand tightly he touched his hand to Fawkes' tail feathers, and with a flash of light they had gone.

An instant later they saw London around them; dark, grimy streets poorly lit by the occasional working streetlight. Grimmauld Place – the street where the Black house was hidden. Still holding Minerva's hand Dumbledore turned to the phoenix and said softly, "Thank you, my friend."

Fawkes inclined his gorgeous head as he flapped in the air before them, and flew briskly away. Minerva pointed with her free hand. "There's Severus. There's no one with him yet."

"They will be here soon, those that will come," he reassured her. They moved toward the lone figure in black. "Severus. Is he still in there?"

Snape did not turn around. "Yes," he said shortly. "He is alone with the Death Eaters. I don't think he has any accomplices." His eyes were intently scanning the house.

"Well, at least that's something of a relief," said Minerva. "Do you know where in the house they are located?"

Snape turned around in surprise at her voice; and his eyes widened with something more than surprise when he saw their hands entwined. Was that a glimmer of amusement Minerva saw lurking there? If it was, then he quickly recovered. "In the main bedroom, towards the front of the house. I've been watching all day, as best I can; the house is a demon for blocking see-spells. So far as I can tell they haven't moved."

"Several members of the Wizengamot are coming," Dumbledore informed him quietly. "I'll bind the house with an Anti-Disapparation Jinx when they arrive, and then we'll go in. Do you wish to come in with us, Severus?"

Snape's eyebrow rose in his classic intimidatory classroom manner. "Of course. You had any doubt?"

Dumbledore was saved from replying as around them figures shimmered into being. Minerva started to count them off - three… seven… eight… ten… Madam Bones had been the first to arrive. "Good evening, Professor Snape."

"Good evening, Madam Bones." Severus inclined his head formally.

"And Headmaster Dumbledore. Are you now prepared to tell us what is going on, or are you going to exercise your famous sense of whimsy and refuse to tell us until the last minute?"

"I think, in the end, it will be better if you see for yourself. But I should warn you to have your wands ready," he replied. He took out his own wand and rapidly cast the jinx. The house glowed for a moment. "We should go in now, before the jinx is noticed."

They moved to the doorway – fifteen of the Wizengamot's Circle, Dumbledore, Snape, and Minerva. It seemed a large task force to capture one lone man, but still Minerva felt uneasy. As Albus quickly disenchanted the door in order to let them in, she realised why. If what Phineas Nigellus had told Dumbledore was right, then they were trying to capture a madman. And so what they were about to face would be completely unpredictable.


	11. Into the Black

Dumbledore muttered a locking spell after they had all stepped into a dark hallway that seemed to be chillier than the night outside.

Madam Bones briskly rubbed her arms. "Well, Dumbledore, what no-"

A screaming voice interrupted her. "Filth! Dirty, muggle-loving Mudbloods!" How dare you enter this house!" Madam Black shook her fists at them from her portrait on the wall. Their heads swung round.

"He has to know we're here now," Dumbledore said quietly. "We must hurry." He began to stride towards the long staircase.

"Dumbledore! Albus Dumbledore, the great muggle defender! Traitor to your blood! Have you come to torture my poor niece too?"

Madam Bones had begun to follow Dumbledore up the stairs; now she stopped dead on the third stair. "Torture?" She stared at Dumbledore's back. "What the hell is going on?"

Dumbledore did not turn around. "We must hurry," was all he would say as he continued up the stairs, Minerva and Severus right behind him. After a moment the fifteen members of the Wizengamot's Circle followed – but now with more hesitant steps. The mystery was proving more worrying than they had imagined, and the small glimpses of their faces that the gloom of the house allowed showed them to be significantly paler than they had been in the streetlights outside.

At the top of the staircase Dumbledore stopped so suddenly Minerva, close behind, cannoned into him. He quickly turned, wrapping his arms around her waist to prevent the threatened faster trip back down the stairs.

She did not attempt to free herself, but instead looked up into his face. "Albus?" Around them the others gathered close. Severus already stood in the corridor, apart and aloof, quick eyes darting everywhere.

He kept hold of her. "He's left the bedroom. We should find him first."

For once not caring they were not alone she took his face in both hands. "First it must be seen. He cannot leave the house, and before we take him we must all bear witness to what he has done."

He did not want to agree, she knew; but he finally nodded gravely. Letting go of each other they moved to the bedroom Phineas Nigellus had indicated, the others following. Severus was there before them all, and stepped first through the door. He made a small choked sound.

It was a scene that could not be described – only revisited in nightmare. It was, normally, a somewhat dark and austere bedroom; Minerva had remembered it as the room Molly Weasley had put the two boys in the year of Voldemort's return. Two four-poster beds; dark wood furniture; heavy curtains on the window. Not attractive, but not frightening, either. Normally.

Madam Bones took two steps into the room. "My God." Her voice was quiet. "The blood. Look at the blood."

It was not that which made Minerva pale – she had been on battlefields before. But the smell – of filth, of degradation – drained the colour from her face. Next to her she felt Albus grasp her arm for a moment as if to steady himself; glancing up, she saw his bright blue eyes, tear-dimmed. "I should not have delayed so long," he said quietly to her. "If we had come as soon as we knew they were here..."

She laid her hand over his, where it rest on her arm, and squeezed it fiercely. "You didn't do this, Albus Dumbledore." Her whisper was almost furious in its vehemence. "How are you responsible for his madness?"

He did not reply, but instead looked away, and she knew whatever she said he would continue to blame himself.

Severus moved to one of the two unmoving bundles on the floor. He carefully lifted it onto one of the beds and began the examination. Letting go of Dumbledore's hand, Minerva went to help him. It only took them a few moments to find what they needed to know, and Minerva gently covered the form with a blanket.

Snape lifted his head to stare at the group who watched, clustered near the door. His face was paper white. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he told them. "Killed by Avada Kedavra."

"What was left of her," Minerva added in a voice of stone. "The Avada only happened less than an hour ago. She's been systematically tortured for the past two days – there are marks of Imperio and prolonged Cruciatus on her body. And some more – inventive – tortures, both magical and muggle."

Albus realised he had never seen her face like this before – not even in the midst of war. In every feature was written bone deep hatred.

Severus moved away from the bed to examine the other form still lying on the floor. "Lucius Malfoy," he confirmed, his tone almost clinical. "Also dead." He moved to the empty bed and, pulling off a sheet, quickly placed it over the remains.

Madam Bones' eyes blazed. "What happened to them? Who did this?"

"The answer to your second question is hiding somewhere in this house," Minerva snapped. "Shouldn't we get him first?"

Madam Bones turned to the gaping crowd. "Right. Three groups. Start searching every cranny of this cursed place."

"Oh, I say!"

"Amelia, I hardly think..."

"This is a job for the Aurors, surely!"

"Are you mad?"

"Are you wizards, or are you mice?" she shouted. The complainants stopped, stunned by the roar. Madam Bones turned to Dumbledore. "Who are we looking for, Dumbledore? We need to know – now."

The question he did not want to answer; but he did. "Cornelius Fudge."

For a long moment it seemed that the world did not move. Then Madam Bones said, softly, quietly, "No."

"Yes," was his only reply, in a tone as gentle as hers had been.

She shook her head – along with several others of the Wizengamot's Circle. "I don't believe it." Stalemate.

Minerva took a deep breath, but Severus forestalled her before she could erupt. "If you will allow me, Headmaster, Madam Bones," Snape held up his wand, "there is an easy way to prove guilt or innocence. _Anteimago videre._"

The room filled with a ghostly blue light, and the white form of the Minister of Magic drifted through the spectators towards the three human figures invisibly held immobile against the far wall.

A low moan burst from Madam Bones as the shadowy form began his obscene work on the female figure. "I'll kill him."

"Stand in line." As she spoke, Minerva McGonagall gently rested her hand on the blanket-covered form on the bed, as if sealing her vow.

"Now, steady on!" One of the Wizengamot members – Ermot Herm – now raised his voice. "What Cornelius has done has to be punished, I agree. But don't forget, these people were Death Eaters! They perpetrated tortures –" he flinched as the image of Fudge drew a knife blade along a human cheek, laying it open to the bone – "just like these…"

Madam Bones whirled around. "You think that excuses this horror?" To accompany her words the sound of a sharp slap echoed through the room, and Ermot staggered backwards, a red handprint emblazoned on his face.

"You miserable bastard," she raged. "So they were Death Eaters. So what? What does that make us if we condone this? That it comes from one of us makes it all the more unforgivable." She glared at the others clustered near the door.

Minerva, with one last glance at the shrouded figure on the bed, moved towards them. "It doesn't matter greatly whether you forgive him or not," she informed them calmly. "I cannot. I will kill him."

Snape, still standing by the form of Lucius Malfoy, looked up in some surprise. "Unexpected," he murmured. "Is Professor McGonagall so tender to Death Eaters that she would kill to avenge them?"

Minerva turned slightly to look at him. "Who they were has nothing to do with it, Severus. I'll kill anyone who does – that." She gestured to the wall, where the phantoms continued their play.

He nodded his head slightly as she turned back to face the Wizengamot. "Move," she commanded. None of them had ever been taught by Professor McGonagall, but they scrambled to make way for her with as much alacrity as first year Hufflepuffs. She went through the door without looking back.

Madam Bones let out a sharp hard bark of laughter. "Well," she said briskly, "if Minerva McGonagall has the guts to kill him, at least let's make it legal. All those in favour of the death of Cornelius Fudge for atrocities committed against his fellow man, raise your hands." Her own went up immediately.

Most of the others shot their hands up into the air straight after, their faces as set and grim as her own. A few looked uncertain, and they glanced over at Dumbledore for reassurance.

Albus had not spoken nor moved since Severus had cast his spell. His entire attention seemed rapt in the remembrance of torture playing out at the far wall. As the figure of Fudge raised his wand to perform the final curses a tear could be seen slipping down his cheek. At that, all but one of the dissenters thrust their fists into the air.

The lone holdout was Ermot. He shook his head. "Death Eaters killed my family. I won't condemn Cornelius for killing them."

Madam Bones' gaze softened – but only for a moment. "So you think revenge justifies all, Ermot? Even if it turns us into those who caused our grief?"

He looked shocked. "But I haven't – I wouldn't – "

"If you condone it in Fudge, doesn't that mean you would?"

He visibly struggled with it for a moment and then, reluctantly, his hand rose.

Madam Bones smiled an almost feral grin. "Right. Unanimously carried – or close enough for government work. Now let's go see if Professor McGonagall's already carried out the sentence. Groups of three, people; first to find him casts a Sending spell for the rest of us."

With Madam Bones at their head the Wizengamot members complied without a single complaint – for possibly the first time in their history. They had seen all they needed; now the hunt was on.


	12. The Hour of the Wolf

The room emptied quickly, until only Dumbledore, Snape, and the two motionless forms were left. The traces of Severus' spell were fading; the room was no longer ghostly with phantoms and blue light, but now lit with an ordinary lamp. The harsh everyday yellow light should have been comforting; it wasn't. This room could never offer comfort to any occupant again.

Dumbledore bowed his head to the empty air in a mute acceptance of the truth. Cornelius Fudge had done – these things – and for that, he must die. So the Wizengamot had spoken; so – more importantly – spoke his own conscience.

He looked up at the ceiling. He could sense Cornelius up there; in the attic, he suspected. He moved into the corridor, but then he heard the broken whisper emanate from the room. "Sev…rus."

He turned quickly back and stood in the doorway.

Severus Snape was kneeling by the form on the floor, his entire attention fixed on what was left of the figure's face.

"Sev…rus." A sibilant hiss. A voice now incapable of pronouncing plosives. "Why… protect me?"

"Lucius?"

"Why tell them… I'm dead?"

"You're dying anyway." Dry, matter of fact. "You've suffered too much internal damage for any healer to fix. I see no reason for your last hours to be wasted answering pointless questions."

A ghost of a laugh from the dying man. "Always… practical."

A long pause ensued.

"Poor Bellatrix. Surprised me."

"Oh?"

"Didn't… last long. Under torture. Very good… at giving it, though."

"Yes."

"Mind went… by second day." Another half-laugh. "Not sure… mine didn't too."

"You sound sane enough." Snape added casually, "You won't have too long to worry about it, in any case."

"True."

Another pause.

"Take care… of Narcissa?"

"Yes."

"She was never… a Death Eater. But people… won't care about that." A long choked breath. "Innocence… isn't interesting."

"True." Snape pursed his lips. "I could have you taken to St. Mungo's after all; they can't fix you, but they could stabilize you long enough for you to say goodbye to her."

"No. Don't want… her to see."

Dumbledore had never eavesdropped on any other conversation so full of pauses.

"Sev… rus?"

"Yes?"

"A favor?"

"What?"

"Want… to kill myself. Need… a wand."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "You're dying anyway. What would be the point of that?"

"Don't want… to give that… creature… the satisfaction…"

"Ah."

"You understand?"

Severus Snape's answer was in the careful placement of his own wand into what was left of Lucius Malfoy's right hand.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"I won't. Obviously."

It was Snape's turn to laugh.

"One last thing… he made a deal… with the rat. What… Pettigrew will tell you… is what Fudge has... told him to say."

"Interesting. Thank you, Lucius."

"Favor for… favor. Ironic… the rat… and the traitor… outlived us all."

"I'm told life can be like that sometimes."

"See you… in hell, Sev.. rus."

"I look forward to the reunion, Lucius." Snape laid a hand gently on Malfoy's shoulder for a long moment. Then he stood and moved away.

A long hissing breath. Then the curse was spoken, and the room flashed for an instant with bright green light. It was over.

Severus moved back to retrieve his wand. After tucking it into his belt he carefully placed the sheet back over the corpse. Then he moved toward the door.

And saw Dumbledore.

"You've taken a grave risk, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "The Ministry may run tests to determine whose wand killed him."

"Given what the members of the Wizengamot have seen tonight, it seems unlikely they will investigate to such an extent." Snape was equally calm. "Besides," he glanced back at the figure, "it was worth the risk."

"Yes."

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Snape's black eyes seemed for a second to glitter even more brightly than usual.

"So, Headmaster, are we to go and find our lapsed Minister, or do you plan on allowing your beloved Professor to indulge her bloodthirsty instincts?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "You are right, Severus. Cornelius is still in the attic; they have not found him yet. And while I can neither allow nor disallow her anything, I should prefer it if, just this once, Professor McGonagall did not achieve her stated ambition."

Both wizards moved into the corridor. As they prepared to mount the small staircase to the attic, Snape paused. "Oh, before I forget – congratulations."

"On what?"

"If you aren't refuting the term "your beloved" in conjunction with Minerva McGonagall, then it must indicate the two of you have finally realised your relationship has been utterly obvious to anyone who has ever spent ten minutes in your combined company." Snape raised a single eyebrow. "I presume I shall be invited to the ceremony?"

Dumbledore smiled gently and for a moment the rarest of things was seen – a true smile on the face of Severus Snape.

Then they entered the attic.


	13. The Hour of the Wolf Part II

The attic looked as though it had not been disturbed in centuries. Dust lay thickly on the wooden floor. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they crossed into the middle of the large space, walking carefully around mysterious chests and other objects. In the attic of a wizarding house it paid to take care.

Severus Snape looked around, seeking any sign of life – and finding none. "How are we to find them in this?" he whispered.

Dumbledore however had already pulled out his wand and was walking purposefully towards a stack of crates. He reached out to the empty air and pulled away – nothing, which then became a length of strangely patterned dark cloth.

"Invisibility Cloak," Snape muttered. "Naturally." He walked over to the now-visible group, his own wand held ready.

The two men who had been hidden under the cloak now stood up. "Dumbledore! Thank Merlin it's you!" said the roundest figure. He had tight hold of the other. "Have you seen them? Bellatrix and Lucius? Are they –"

"They are dead, Cornelius." Dumbledore's tone was gentle; the only thing, Severus realised as he threw a glance at the Headmaster, which could be said to be so. Any trace of the daffy, good-natured sentimentalist had vanished; in his place stood a figure of immovable, awesome power. "You may rest assured that you killed them."

Cornelius Fudge sagged slightly in relief. "Thank goodness. I threw the curses at them, but I wasn't sure they had worked – after all, I'm not often called upon to perform one of the Unforgivable Curses! But before I could check that they were – well, you know – I heard some sort of shouting in the hall. I thought it might be some supporter of You-Know-Who; some Death Eater, perhaps, whom we'd never known of; so I dragged Pettigrew up here with my wand at his throat and forced him to hide with me until the coast was clear. And all the time it was allies of my own!" he concluded, face beaming with good cheer.

"You performed the curses remarkably well for a novice, Minister," Snape congratulated him dryly.

"Yes, it appears my old duelling training hasn't quite been forgotten, Severus! But it really was quite an awful fight -"

"Enough, Cornelius!" Dumbledore's voice held a weary disgust. More softly he added, "It is enough."

Fudge looked puzzled. "Why, Dumbledore, what is wrong?"

Any attempt at an answer on Dumbledore's part was stopped by the sudden shadow of abject fear that passed over Fudge's face. He did not turn around but, dipping into Fudge's suddenly unguarded mind, saw through his eyes for a brief moment.

Minerva. Framed in the light filtering through the attic doorway she seemed somehow taller than she was in reality. Her wand was out and was pointed, rock steady, at Fudge's heart.

His own gaze now fixed on Fudge he heard her footsteps cross the attic floor steadily until she reached his side. "_Avada Ke-_"

"No!" With his own free hand he knocked her wand aside, pulling her hand firmly toward the floor, interrupting the curse before it could be completed. Nonetheless a bolt of deadly green energy hit the wooden floorboards just before Dumbledore's feet. A small, whimpering sound came from Fudge's throat.

She turned on him, balked, her eyes like a tiger's. "You know what he did – and I meant what I swore," she hissed. "Why are you stopping what we both know must be done?"

"Because this isn't a war, Minerva," he told her. "And no man should be killed, unless in war, without a chance to confess. It would be murder otherwise; and you, my Minerva, are no murderer." He let go his grip on her wand.

Her eyes flickered briefly at 'my Minerva', but her wand rose again immediately after he let go of it, and he sighed. "Then get him to confess, if you think he should. But I made a vow, Albus Dumbledore, and I will not break a vow."

She turned her tiger's gaze to Fudge. "We know everything you did, Cornelius. The –"

She broke off as noise and more figures streamed through the doorway – the Wizengamot members, having finally found their quarry, flooded into the room, their faces set and grim. Madam Bones flicked her wand towards Fudge. "Why isn't he dead yet?" she demanded.

Minerva didn't look around. "Professor Dumbledore seems to believe he should be given a chance to confess."

Amelia Bones raised an eyebrow. "Well, Minister, I'd say you have about five minutes left to live. Better make your confession now, before Professor McGonagall here gets too impatient to let you finish it."

Fudge looked from one deadly woman to the other, his mouth open. "What are you both talking about? "Confess"? Confess what? I caught the Death Eaters!"

"He did!" Peter Pettigrew piped up eagerly. "We'd been hiding out here in Bellatrix' old home, after we escaped in the riot. Lucius was trying to figure out some way to revive Voldemort's plans, to recruit new Death Eaters, to even revive Lord Voldemort himself! But then the Minister here –"

"Shut up, Wormtail," Snape said in disgust. "You always were a servile creature."

Pettigrew stuttered "S-s-severus, I s-s-swear-"

He broke off, wilting under Snape's scornful, knowing stare. Snape then turned the same stare towards Fudge. "Anteimagio videre is such a useful spell, Minister. I'm really surprised they don't teach it at Hogwarts. Of course, it is regarded as a Dark Arts spell, somewhat immoral, in fact; but, given what we all saw you do when I cast it in that bedroom downstairs, I don't think you'd object to the immorality of it at all."

Fudge's face turned visibly pale. "Anteimagio videre?" he gasped.

A breathless hush filled the room as Snape continued, his voice silken with irony. "Oh, yes; as I said, very useful. Voldemort certainly found it useful – I cast it for him many times. He enjoyed reliving someone's torture almost as much as he did causing it."

Somewhere at the back of the group Dumbledore heard a hastily muffled sob. He guessed it would have emanated from Ermot Herm. The mention of Voldemort and torture had a special significance for him.

"You know, Minister," Snape now dropped into a conversational tone, sounding eerily as if he were discussing Quidditch results over afternoon tea, "I really believe you have missed your calling. Had you joined the Dark Lord, you would have had many more opportunities to display your, um, talents, shall we say?"

Fudge seemed to shrink inward upon himself with every word Severus spoke. His eyes darted with a hunted look from one unfriendly face to another. Pettigrew, with behaviour uncannily like that of his Animagus form divided his attention between the grim group confronting Fudge and the seemingly terrified Minister himself, his nose actually twitching as if he could smell the anger and the fear.

"Who knows? You and Voldemort could have found you had much in common, not just a taste for power and for pain." Snape clearly relished speaking these words to the man who would have had him sent to Azkaban had Dumbledore not intervened for him so many years ago.

"Severus." Minerva McGonagall's wand hand had not moved a muscle. "Amusing as you no doubt find this, what is its point? We all saw what he did. And we have all agreed on the appropriate penalty."

Severus Snape looked at her with a certain disappointment, but casually shrugged. "As you will, then." He gracefully stepped backward into the group of the Wizengamot, leaving Minerva, Dumbledore, and Madam Bones facing the Minister of Magic and his 'prisoner'.

"Cornelius Fudge." The words were somehow still hard for Dumbledore to say. But he was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; it was his responsibility. "By a unanimous vote of a Wizengamot quorum, you have been found guilty of torture and murder. The penalty for those who would misuse magic in such ways is as old as our wizarding history itself; and now the Dementors are no more, we must return to the old ways. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?"

Fudge loosened his hold on Pettigrew, his hands shaking as he finally realised that any hope of pretence had flown. "N – no, you mustn't, you can't mean to, they were _Death Eaters_, don't any of you understand? You can't, not for _them_, you can't!"

"We will." Amelia Bones and Minerva McGonagall spoke together.

"Ermot! Ermot Herm! They did worse to your own family, surely you -" Fudge's voice was high, frantic, as he tried to sway any weak link.

Ermot shook his head. "What they did, I cannot forgive them for," he admitted. "But even so, I won't become like them. Nor will I condone it in anyone else. I'm sorry, Cornelius."

Fudge's shoulders slumped in defeat.

And the words burst out of Dumbledore before he could think about them. "Why, Cornelius?" Two words which bore all the old fondness. "Why do this?" All the old fondness but also the new betrayal, the new and immense pain.

Fudge's head flew up. "You! _You_ dare to ask me that?" His voice was loud with fury. "Always you, Albus Dumbledore, standing in my way, judging me! Always you they spoke about with respect, always you whom everyone secretly wanted to be in my place – the place I earned! Finally I worked out a way to be seen beyond your shadow, and you, you stop me yet again! Look into my mind then, Leglimens, greatest wizard of the world, and tell me why I did it!"

Shocked, Dumbledore cast the spell without thought – and found in all of Fudge's thoughts and memories the limitless hate of a man who had always thought himself cast in second place. He flung his mind away from the others and stood aghast. Minerva laid her hand on his arm in quick distress, and Madam Bones moved her gaze to him in concern.

Fudge's eyes brightened with a wild hope. He pulled out his wand with snake-like speed and pointed it at Dumbledore's heart. Snape shoved the other Wizengamot members aside.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"


	14. The Hour of the Rat

Even afterwards it was difficult for Snape to reconstruct what had happened in those few brief seconds before the room was engulfed in deadly green light.

He saw Fudge pull out his wand. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall had lowered their wands. What were they thinking? He shouted out something, a warning, even as he pushed his way through the Wizengamot members, who were too busy gaping at the scene in front of them to do anything constructive. But the fools wouldn't get out of his way, and he knew, sickeningly, that he would be too late even as he heard Fudge's voice, high with glee, screaming the curse that would kill the man to whom Snape owed everything.

Minerva saw, and threw herself in front of Dumbledore.

Madam Bones raised her wand.

A silver hand suddenly grasped Fudge's wrist even as he spoke the last word.

With a surprising strength, Dumbledore pushed Minerva away from him.

On the last syllable, the silver hand snapped Fudge's hand so that his wand was pointing at himself. In the eerie silence Snape could hear the bones loudly break. Fudge's eyes were suddenly wide with terror and pain – but it was too late.

Then the green light, so familiar and still so frightening, shot through the attic in deadly answer to the worst of curses.

Or so, at that moment, Snape thought it. Later, he revised his opinion.

There are, after all, worse things than death.

But at that moment, after the light had disappeared and he finally made it to where Dumbledore was standing, the worst curse he knew was the Avada Kedavra, and he was filled with relief that the Headmaster- his only friend – had not been its victim. Instead, the body on the floor was that of Cornelius Fudge. And still holding onto the wrist of the dead man was the silver hand, bequeathed to him by Voldemort on the night of his rebirth, of Peter Pettigrew.

Lucius' words flashed through Snape's mind. "Ironic, that the rat and the traitor outlived us all." Lucius would have been amused by this.

Madam Bones lowered her wand slightly. "Hellfire," she breathed.

Professor McGonagall moved back to Dumbledore's side, but he seemed not to see her. His attention was instead fixed upon Cornelius Fudge, and on his face was an expression of deep sadness. Minerva's own wand was out again, and now it was pointing straight at Pettigrew.

Snape coughed politely. "Pettigrew," he said suavely. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind letting go of the Minister's arm? I don't think he's in any position to harm anyone anymore, and it seems to make Professor McGonagall here rather edgy to see you so close to a wand."

Pettigrew dropped the arm like it was suddenly on fire.

"Smooth, Severus," murmured Amelia Bones.

He inclined his head towards her in thanks.

Pettigrew's bright eyes darted around the group, as he let out a high-pitched nervous giggle. He finally fixed his gaze on Dumbledore. "I saved you, yes? He was trying to kill you, but I saved you."

Dumbledore said nothing.

"He threatened to torture me if I didn't do what he wanted. So did Voldemort! I've always been threatened… always…" There was immense self-pity in his tone. It set Severus' teeth on edge.

By the look on Minerva McGonagall's face, it had a similar effect on her.

"But you," the voice brightened, took on a whining hope, "I saved you! And you wouldn't threaten me, or hurt me, Headmaster. You're the greatest wizard in the world – you have no need to threaten me, or hurt me – what harm could I, weak as I am, ever do to you?" Pettigrew took a small step closer to Dumbledore, his hands outstretched, pleading. McGonagall let out a hissing breath, and Pettigrew stopped dead in his tracks, glancing over at her nervously.

Then he turned back to Dumbledore, who was watching him impassively. "You wouldn't – you won't kill me, will you, Professor?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "No, I will not kill you, Peter. But I do not know what is to be done with you."

Snape felt that he could have offered some useful suggestions, had he been asked.

Dumbledore continued heavily, "You are far more dangerous than you would have me believe."

"Me? No, Professor! I've no real power – I've just been an errand boy, used by evil wizards… Let me give my loyalty to you, Professor Dumbledore, let me serve you, and I promise you I'll never –"

"Promise?" Snape could not help but sneer at that. "You promise, Pettigrew? Ask the Potters what your promises are worth."

"I was forced!" Pettigrew cried. "Voldemort threatened to –"

"Oh, shut up, Pettigrew!" Madam Bones had obviously had enough. She turned to Dumbledore. "Well, if we aren't going to kill him – and I don't see how we can now, since he did save your life – then what are we to do with him? We can't keep him forever locked up in Azkaban now the Dementors are gone, but he's the last Death Eater alive. We can't let him go!"

Dumbledore sighed. "I do not know," he admitted.

"I do."

Minerva McGonagall spoke with a strangely gentle calm, and moved a little away from Dumbledore. Her wand was still pointed directly at Pettigrew, and he turned to watch her warily.

"You offend me, Wormtail," she continued. "Your existence is an offence, because you are the very worst of the Death Eaters. Those who died downstairs at least held a belief; a wrong and an evil belief, but one they had the courage to sacrifice themselves for. You have no belief in anything save your own survival, and you would sacrifice and betray anyone and anything to keep yourself safe. Your Animagus form was very well chosen, Rat; let that be your punishment."

He looked puzzled. Snape couldn't work out what she meant either. But as her power suddenly billowed her robes around her, he knew – and so did everyone else in the room – that something of a very high order of magic was about to happen in the dusty attic. For Minerva McGonagall was a very powerful witch.

"_Animagi es"_ From the first syllable of the spell blue-white sparks began to crawl along her wand.

"_Alienus forma capiebas."_

"Minerva, no!" An anguished cry from Dumbledore. But she ignored him.

"_Animagi sum idem_

_Et mihi potestas teum do." _The blue-white sparks erupted from her wand towards her. Her face contorted with pain as they swirled around her.

Snape felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The huge power of this spell was palpable in the room.

"_Animagi te damno!" _A ringing sound hurt Snape's ears. Pettigrew tried to shrink away, but his feet seemed fixed to the floor, and he fell instead.

"_Nunquam postea mutaties_

_Semper bestiola eris."_

The words seemed almost forced out of her now. She fell to her knees as blue fire erupted from her wand, but kept it pointed steadily at the terrified Pettigrew.

"_Per sacrificium mihi_

_Sino fieri!"_

And with that last cry cold fire, wizard fire, the oldest of magics, erupted from her body and she collapsed onto the floor. But her wand hand she forced up, and waved it once more at Pettigrew. And the flames traveled from her now unconscious form to him.

He screamed as the flames enveloped him, and he writhed in them as he slowly changed.

Dwindled.

His clothes fell on the floor, untouched by the fire, which grew smaller and smaller. Until, at last, a small nose appeared, twitching.

A rat. Balding, grubby, old. With a silver paw.

With a loud squeak it skittered along the floorboards, and Snape went to chase it.

"Leave it!" Dumbledore had already moved to Minerva's unmoving form. He gathered her carefully in his arms and stood.

"What?" Snape was dumbfounded. "Let him get away? He'll change back and we'll have all this to do again!"

"No," Dumbledore said quietly as he shifted Minerva to rest her head more comfortably on his shoulder. "It is a permanent Transfiguration, Severus. He will be forever a rat."

"That's not possible!" one of the Wizengamot protested loudly.

"It is," Dumbledore corrected him. "It is simply that it has never been done."

"Why?" asked the same voice.

"Because," Dumbledore gazed sadly at the woman cradled in his arms. "Permanent Transfiguration requires a sacrifice."


	15. In the Darkness before Dawn

It was a somber group who finally made their way down the attic stairs. They made an odd procession, beginning with the body of Cornelius Fudge, which floated between Snape and Ermot Herm. Behind them came Albus Dumbledore cradling the still form of Minerva McGonagall in his arms, Madam Bones by his side. After them trailed the rest of the Wizengamot members who had come to the house. They were all silent now, with shocked, pale faces.

They had thought the war was over, Severus Snape reflected sourly. That because Voldemort was finally dead, the world would automatically become peaceful and good. They should have known better: and if nothing else, this night would teach them to be less smug in future.

A good lesson it in, then; one Alastor Moody, Merlin keep his suspicious soul, would have definitely approved of. 'Unceasing vigilance' indeed. But - what price did the lesson cost them?

He looked over at Dumbledore as they came down the main staircase. His face was as calm as it had been before they entered the Black house, and he carried Minerva with no apparent strain. But there was a look in his eyes that Severus had never seen before, and he had known him many years, and under the worst of circumstances.

He looked away. Too high a price, he decided.

His reverie was shattered when the group came within earshot of the portrait of Madam Black.

"Murderers! Revolting, scum-sucking Mudbloods! How dare you raise your filthy hands against one so high above you? She was of the highest blood, and you, you Muggle-loving - "

Amelia Bones grimaced and drew out her wand. "I'm too tired for this," she announced. "Lingua sed torpet!"

"Urggh - ugh." The portrait's invective ended abruptly. Madam Black glared at Amelia, but was robbed of any further speech.

"You numbed her tongue? I don't think I've ever seen that done before," Snape commented idly.

"Evidence of a misspent youth, I'm afraid - I have three sisters, and I always did like to win arguments. It was an effective way of ensuring I would always get the last word."

"I wonder if it would work on some of my students."

Madam Bones shook her head, but said nothing further, directing her gaze instead back to the still silent Dumbledore as they reached the great doors.

All of them felt some measure of relief as they entered the cold, predawn streets of London. Dumbledore finally spoke. "I know there is still much to be sorted out - but I feel that tonight we have all been through enough. Please, all of you, go home."

"What will you do with Cornelius, Dumbledore?" Madam Bones asked.

"I shall take him to his house here in London - then I shall go to his family home in the west, and tell his family what has occurred," he answered gravely. "It is best if they know before tomorrow."

"And Professor McGonagall? Would you like me to take her to St. Mungo's?"

His grip unconsciously tightened. "No. Severus will take her back to Hogwarts."

"She should be in the hospital, Dumbledore."

"She will have all the care she needs at Hogwarts, Amelia."

"Poppy Pomfrey is a good school nurse, Dumbledore - but Professor McGonagall needs professional care. You don't know what the rebound from that curse has done to her," she pointed out. "The staff at St. Mungo's are better prepared to deal with the unknown."

"She will be cared for at Hogwarts." His voice was very definite.

Amelia Bones sighed in exasperation. "Then I'll take Cornelius' body to his house."

"And I'll tell his family." Everyone looked at Ermot in surprise. "I know them quite well," he explained. "Annoura was very kind to me when - when I needed help, and I'd like to try to return that kindness."

Dumbledore looked from one to the other. "Thank you both," he said finally, "but this is my responsibility."

"No, it isn't." Madam Bones was just as firm. "Cornelius was one of us - and so all of us have the same responsibility. And right now, I think you've got a greater responsibility, if you continue to insist upon caring for Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts."

"If I had come to this house as soon as I heard what was happening, none of this would have occurred." His eyes were very sad. "Cornelius might still be alive, and Minerva would not have been injured."

Madam Bones looked at him coolly. "Albus Dumbledore," she said. "I love you like a brother, but sometimes you can be too saintly for words. Everything that happens in the world is not your fault. And if you had come here earlier, you could now be dead - or Professor McGonagall could have been killed following you, which I'm damned sure she would have done - and Cornelius might have gotten away with the whole plan."

Reaching up, the short rotund woman patted the tall wizard on the cheek. "We're doing this my way, Albus, whether you want to beat yourself up about it or not. I'd personally prefer you didn't, but feel free if you think you must."

Turning around she took hold of the corpse's hand and with a whispered word she - and it - were gone. The rest of the Wizengamot members followed suit; only Ermot Herm lingered for a moment. He gently placed a hand on Dumbledore's arm. "It was Cornelius' own choice, Dumbledore," he said softly. "It's hard to understand why, but - he chose what he did."

He let Dumbledore go - and turned to the silent Snape. "You justified Dumbledore's faith in you tonight, Professor." And he vanished.

Snape looked at the spot where Ermot had been with a wry twist upon his lips. "How remarkable," he commented. "While I was risking my life spying on Voldemort, I was continually under suspicion - but now I've turned on one of their own, I've 'justified' the faith you've had in me. Perhaps I should have attacked one of them sooner, do you think, Headmaster? It might have solved a lot of problems."

A small twinkle might have been seen in Dumbledore's eyes - if it were ever there it was gone in an instant as he looked down again at the woman he carried. Her face was white, her eyes closed, and he was - he was obviously desperately worried for her. "It would be best to go home, Severus," he said. "Get what sleep you can before tomorrow."

"Aren't you coming?"

"In a moment. I will see you in the morning." It was a gentle but definite dismissal. "And, Severus?"

Snape turned back.

"You do not need to justify my faith in you. I would trust you with my life." Dumbledore smiled softly. "Tonight I was willing to trust you with someone whose life I hold much more important than my own. You proved yourself a true and good man many years ago."

What can you say when you have been given absolution? When you have despaired of earning trust, and found you have gained more than you hoped? Snape choked back a surprisingly large lump in his throat. "Thank you," he said simply. And apparated back to the main gate of Hogwarts.

As he walked up the drive, he thought about the events of this night, and discovered he gained a certain amount of vindictive pleasure at the fate of Wormtail. A permanent state of scurrying rat-hood seemed peculiarly appropriate to that creature. Doubtless Minerva McGonagall had felt the same way.

But what had casting the spell done to her?


	16. False Dawn

Finally they were all gone. Albus Dumbledore let out a long soft sigh, his breath steaming in the cold air. He could see the surrounding streets now; it would be dawn soon. He could also see Minerva's face.

In that queer black and white light of the false dawn, her face was stark ivory and around her eyes were dark circles, clearly visible. Her lips were white. She looked ghastly. And his love for her hit him like a falling wall, and he gently kissed her hair.

Then there was the sound of wings, beating softly on the still air. Fawkes hovered in front of him.

Phoenix magic, he thought suddenly. It could whisk him and Minerva back to Hogwarts, which was proof against any human magical apparition; it had saved Harry from basilisk poison back in his second year at school. Perhaps - "Fawkes. Is there anything you can do?"

Fawkes flew onto his shoulder and peered into Minerva McGonagall's still face. But no tears fell from the magical bird's eyes. He turned to Dumbledore, and those soft dark eyes now mutely shared his despair.

"No?"

Fawkes shook his magnificent head, and flew off his shoulder to again hover just in front of him.

"No." Dumbledore said it softly, finally. He kissed Minerva's hair again, then shifted her weight to cover her from the cold with his cloak. Her head now nestled again into his shoulder, her breath barely perceptible against his neck, he smiled at Fawkes sadly.

"My friend, I cannot come with you," he said. "I have one last task to complete here. But I have one more favour that I would ask of you, if you would. Would you come into the attic of the Black house in a short while? And carry Minerva home?"

If Fawkes had possessed the ability to argue, the sudden alarmed glint in his eyes would have been the precursor to several shrewd questions. But even phoenixes lack an articulated jaw, and he contented himself with cawing softly, then nodding.

"Thank you, my old friend." A final caw, an affectionate nip at his beard, then Fawkes was gone, a single phoenix feather drifting softly to the street.

Albus went back into the Black house.

Once he was inside the magical front door he Apparated directly into the attic; never a particularly safe thing to do inside a house so strongly bespelled, but he could not bear to walk past that dreadful bedroom again. He walked to the centre of the room, and then levitated Minerva's unmoving form directly over the spot where she had fallen such a short time before. Her hair had mostly fallen out of its bun, and he moved the long wisps of it away from her face with infinite care.

"I am sorry, Minerva. So absolutely sorry." He took off his long purple cloak and placed it on the dusty attic floor. "I was foolish, the foolish old man that you've so often called me; but worse, I was arrogant." He took her in his arms again and knelt to place her on the cloak; but he held her in his arms for a long moment before letting her go. "I trusted my own judgement too much, I didn't listen to your warnings, and my hubris has led us here." He lowered her onto the thick fabric, and shifted the cloak around her to keep her warm. Then he stopped, and took both her pale hands in his.

Looking deep into her unresponsive face, wishing with his whole heart that her eyes would flutter open, he said softly, "I have wasted my whole life, Minerva, my whole long life. I've spent it making plans and fighting battles, but never had the courage to say what I always felt about you, until now, when it's just too late."

He stood.

"Forgive me, my Minerva. Please, someday, forgive me that I must leave you alone."

He took out his wand.

"You know," a rather nasal voice mused, "I've watched you do some revoltingly sentimental and, quite frankly, really stupid things over the years, Headmaster, but if you do this one I truly believe you will have completely outdone yourself."

"_Phineas?_"

"Do put your wand away, Dumbledore. Do you really think I feel comfortable chatting to an emotionally distraught wizard while his wand is in his hand?"

"Where are you?"

"Over here, on the wall to your left. Shift some of the packing boxes out of the way."

The packing boxes vanished with a quick flick of Albus' wrist, and a large portrait of Phineas Nigellus was uncovered.

"I didn't mean for you to vanish the boxes – they held some quite valuable objects. Oh, well, too late now."

"What are you doing here?"

"Charming little spot, isn't it?" Phineas sneered. "I used to be hung in the front hallway – you know, a proper spot for one of the most distinguished wizards of my family. But as soon as that woman downstairs took possession of the place she had her own portrait hung up there instead – and I ended up here." He sniffed. "I rarely visit – it's a lousy view."

"I'm afraid I don't have time right now to discuss it, Phineas." Dumbledore's face was set. "I have work to do."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Dumbledore. You're going to try to reverse the Permanent Transfiguration spell, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Thereby taking on the effects of it upon yourself, and releasing Professor McGonagall from her voluntary sacrifice."

"Yes."

"_Despite_ the fact that the Permanent Transfiguration spell has never been cast before, so you have no idea of whether or not Professor McGonagall's condition is permanent, or how the spell has actually affected her power or her mind. Nor do you knowhow a reversal spell will in practice work upon a magic which has never been tried and which is reliant upon _voluntary_ sacrifice. A reversal spell could, quite plausibly, render you both catatonic, and restore that wretched rat Pettigrew – who could never have made it through Sytherin House, by the way – to human form. But, despite not knowing a single thing about the entire business, you are willing to do it regardless." Phineas arched an eyebrow. "And you are, supposedly, the greatest wizard of your generation. I despair for your students."

Dumbledore had not put away his wand. "I feel it is worth the risk, Phineas."

"Will she? Given that she tried to shield you from the Avada Kedavra, and performed an unknown and extremely powerful form of magic to stop you from having to kill that rather revolting rat, I very much doubt it."

"She will be alive and well. That is all I care about."

"She's alive now, you half-wit!" Phineas snapped. "And if you really meant any of that insufferable guff about 'wanting her forgiveness' that you were spouting a few minutes ago, you would try to earn it by exploring all possible avenues before committing yourself to a course of action which is both uncertain and irreversible – not to mention suicidal! You do have a staff of supposedly senior practitioners of magic, don't you? Take her back to Hogwarts and for once in your life, ask for help!"

Albus' eyebrows had lowered in sudden anger, but at the conclusion of Phineas' tirade, his wand hand dropped back down to his side and his determined face relaxed into sadness. "Hubris," he said softly. "I'm guilty of it again."

He tucked his wand back into his robe pocket and knelt down to pick up Minerva, now snugly wrapped in his cloak. The first shafts of dawn light began to find their way through the attic windows. As if on cue Fawkes suddenly swooped into the room.

He nodded gravely to the portrait. "Thank you, Phineas." Then he reached up his free hand to touch Fawkes' tail feathers, and the three of them disappeared.

Phineas Nigellus watched as the single phoenix feather wafted to the floor where Minerva McGonagall had lain. "She really showed," he said softly to the empty air, "a most remarkable bravery."

Then the portrait too was empty.


	17. A Day of Waiting

Instead of the school infirmary, Fawkes had brought them to Dumbledore's bedroom. The phoenix then immediately dived out the open window, without so much as a farewell glance.

Albus opened his mouth to call him back – and then closed it. Perhaps the magical bird had read more in Albus's mind than Albus himself had known it contained; because now that he was here, he knew he could not bear to put Minerva into the infirmary, to see her lying helpless in a long row of impersonal beds. No. Here, in his room, where they had woken up together yesterday morning – yes, here was better.

"Thank you, Fawkes," he whispered, and gently laid Minerva down onto the bed, still wrapped in his cloak. He tried his best to make her comfortable, then sat on the bed beside her for a moment, anxiously watching her face. In the light of the sunrise which was now streaming through the eastern window he assured himself that she did, indeed, look better. Her face did not seem quite so white as it had, and her breathing was light but regular.

He did not realise himself that he had reached for one of her hands and was holding onto it desperately with both his own.

Then a voice from the study startled him. "Headmaster? Are you well?"

He raised his own voice. "In here, Poppy!"

"I should warn you that you had better be ill, because that bird of yours pecked at me until I started actually running to your rooms – Merlin!" Madam Pomfrey stood stunned at the bedroom doorway.

But only for a moment. Then she was around the other side of the bed, taking Minerva's free hand in her own and checking her pulse. "What happened?"

"Minerva cast a spell – based on voluntary sacrifice."

"_Voluntary sacrifice_?" Poppy put down Minerva's arm and peeled back one of her eyelids with professional dexterity. "Lumos minima," she murmured quietly, and a tiny beam of light directed itself into Minerva's open eye. Albus watched anxiously. "What was the spell?"

"Semper Bestiola Eris."

Poppy looked at him blankly. "I've never come across that spell before."

"It has never been tried." She was about to ask more questions, but the look on his face stopped her. "How is she?"

The usually imperturbable Madam Pomfrey bit her lip. "I don't know."

He looked at her, blue eyes suddenly hard.

"I'm dealing with the effects of a spell I've never even heard of!" she snapped. "Magic based on voluntary sacrifice is hardly ever practiced – and it's always unpredictable. Physically, she's alive – and that's it. Her pulse is strong, her respiration shallow but regular, her pupils dilate normally, but there's no reflex response, she's as pale as a ghost and looks like she's been deathly ill for a month!" At his sudden sharp intake of breath she lowered her voice and forced herself into some semblance of calm. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. But if I'm to find any way of curing her I need to know everything about the spell she used. At the moment I'm just groping in the dark."

"As am I," he admitted. He stood. "I will get you a copy of the spell immediately. But… I do not have any other information concerning it."

Suddenly Poppy Pomfrey felt a wave of overwhelming pity for the famed and powerful wizard who stood by the bed, still clasping Minerva McGonagall's hand between both his own. "We will find a way to make her well, Albus," she said quietly. It was very unlike her to offer such reassurances.

"Yes," he agreed, his mouth trying to smile. He began to move away from the bed, then seem to notice for the first time that he still had hold of Minerva's hand. He began to raise it – to his lips? Poppy wondered – then instead carefully laid it back on the bed. His long fingers gave her smaller ones a gentle farewell caress, then he straightened. "I will return as quickly as I can," he said softly; but he was not looking at Poppy as he said it, and she sensed the words were not meant for her.

When he had left the bedroom, Poppy Pomfrey let out a long sigh. "Damn it, Minerva McGonagall," she said softly as she pulled out her wand and several other diagnostic tools from her black bag. "What have you done to yourself?"

In the study, Dumbledore found himself confronted with several pairs of anxious eyes; Madam Pince, Professor Flitwick, Professor Binns, Professor Sprout, and Professor Vector – all the professors who had remained during this holiday period - were all standing in the centre of the room, Fawkes circling anxiously overhead. The portraits of past Headmasters which lined the walls of the study were also watching him, uncharacteristically silent.

"Minerva has been grievously injured," he said without preamble. "She cast a spell of voluntary sacrifice in order to force Peter Pettigrew to take his Animagi form permanently. Madam Pomfrey is with her now; but Minerva is unconscious, and we are not sure what the spell has done to her."

"What was the spell, Dumbledore?" Professor Vector asked.

"Semper Bestiola Eris."

Flitwick, Sprout, and Vector looked puzzled, but Madam Pince and Professor Binns looked thoughtful.

"Created in the first century," Professor Binns murmured aloud. "When the Roman wizards were warring against the Druids. Do you have a copy of the spell, Headmaster?"

"I do – but only a copy written in the eighth century by a German scholar, who claimed he invented it. I did not know the spell's provenance was in the first century, and I did not believe it had ever been attempted." Dumbledore looked at the ghostly Professor with some surprise.

"Then I believe some research is in order," Professor Binns said.

"I'll help you with that," Madam Pince and Professor Vector chorused.

"Professor Sprout and I will watch over the students while you three work," Professor Flitwick offered. Professor Sprout nodded vigorously.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said quietly.

"We'll meet back here with all our research in –" Madam Pince looked around.

"Two hours," Professor Vector offered.

Professor Binns and Madam Pince looked a little startled at such a definitive deadline from the Arithmancy professor, but when they saw the strain lines on Dumbledore's face had lessened slightly at the pronouncement they quickly agreed.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said again.

The diminutive Charms professor moved towards him and gently patted his arm in wordless comfort. Then, without further conversation, the five colleagues moved to the staircase.

There were plenty of words on the spiral staircase, however; Severus Snape, almost running towards the Headmaster's study with a newspaper in his hand, was privy to some of them as he met the group when they exited the stair.

"- looks like hell."

"Well, he's obviously devastated! Merlin, Minerva!"

"Incredibly brave of her, to cast an unknown spell like that." This from Professor Sprout.

"Minerva McGonagall has never lacked courage," asserted a surprisingly eloquent Madam Pince.

"Severus!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed. The chattering behind him ceased. "Do you know what has happened?"

"I was with them," Snape said curtly. "Has there been any change in Professor McGonagall's condition?"

"Well, Poppy says she's alive, but not conscious… and – " Filius Flitwick spread his hands helplessly.

Snape's frown deepened. "I see."

"We're going to do some research on the spell and its effects," Professor Vector noted. "We'll convene in the Headmaster's study in two hours."

"Then I shall see you again then. If you will excuse me, however, I must speak to the Headmaster urgently." With that Snape moved to the gargoyle guarding the secret passageway. "Cadbury Flake."

"Severus, now might not be a good –" Snape ignored Professor Sprout with the ease of long practice and moved swiftly up the staircase. "Damn the man!" she exploded with uncharacteristic anger. "Right now Dumbledore doesn't need anything more to worry about!"

"It never stops for them, does it? Voldemort defeated, everything should finally be right for them to be together, and now Dumbledore still has to deal with all the crises while Minerva…" Madam Pince's mouth twisted slightly, pushing back a sob.

They stood for a moment, a grave small group worried for their friends; then the normally reserved Professor Vector gave the prim librarian a comforting hug. "We shall find a cure for Minerva, and we will make everything right for them. They've both worked too hard for us to let this stop them now."

"Absolutely," Sprout confirmed. "And when Minerva McGonagall is back and well, I'll even slip some mescaline into Snape's morning coffee in order to give her something to be glad about."

That won a shocked chuckle from the weeping Madam Pince, who had known Minerva since their Hogwarts schooldays together; and with teary eyes but brave smiles, the colleagues went to do what they could to help their friend and keep their students safe and unaware of their fears.

It was therefore somewhat unfortunate that, although the halls of Hogwarts were almost empty of students on this second day of holiday, two fifth year students who had been going to sneak into the kitchens in search of Butterbeer had overheard their entire conversation. The Butterbeer was immediately forgotten.


	18. Of Learning

Madam Pomfrey had banned him from his bedroom as soon as he had re-entered it. She had more tests to conduct on Professor McGonagall and, she had informed him tartly, she wasn't about to explain to Minerva when she awoke that she had been disrobed in the presence of the Headmaster. Blushing slightly, he had retreated – but only after he had made the nurse promise to call him back immediately if there was any change.

Now as he sat by his fire, with the German grimoire on his lap, he wished that he had not seen the anxious, doubtful look that had flashed into Poppy's eyes when she had agreed. He knew, however, what it meant: that Minerva would not wake naturally, and that the only hope lay in magic. A magic he did not know.

Around him, the portraits were busy. Armando Dippet and Dilys Derwent were moving with remarkable speed amid the hundreds of paintings, whispering furiously to their occupants. Normally he would be fascinated by such unusual activity; this morning he did not even notice it.

"Headmaster!" Snape's voice, echoing as he came up the stairs.

"Enter, Severus," he called back tiredly, his eyes fixed neither on the study entrance, nor on his book, but rather on the doorway to his bedroom. So, oddly, were the eyes of one other person – the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who was taking no part in the susurration of conversation around him.

In contrast to the weary and anxious Headmaster, the tall Potions Master seemed almost to gleam with angry energy. "They're trying to cover it up," he said through gritted teeth.

"Severus, I don't understand."

"This morning's Daily Prophet. A full account of last night's activities. Very full – but if you recognise any part of it, I should be very surprised." With that he handed the newspaper over to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore cast his eye over it quickly. The headline was huge: "**LAST DEATH EATERS SLAIN IN PITCHED BATTLE**". Beneath, in only slightly smaller print, the front page of the Daily Prophet proclaimed with scrolling marquees: "Minister of Magic attempts to take the three evildoers on alone!" "Minister Fudge slain – but only after killing two!" "Dumbledore too late to save his friend – but takes rightful revenge!" "Professor Minerva McGonagall killed in battle!". Underneath the flashing headlines was the large by-line: "Complete Report on page two, by Rita Skeeter!"

"Miss Skeeter strikes again, I see," he commented quietly.

An outraged Snape stared at him. "They're making Fudge into a martyr; they've said Professor McGonagall is dead; and you aren't furious?"

"Minerva is not dead." He said it with a finality that made Snape step back. "Nor will she die, while there is anything I can do to prevent it."

"I understand that, Headmaster," Snape's voice was much quieter. "But that's not really my point. This report is a lie from start to finish, and needs to be dealt with."

"Severus, I cannot find it in me to care."

"What?"

"I do not care. Let the Daily Prophet write whatever it wishes."

Severus very carefully sat down on the opposite chair. "You don't mean that. If this story is allowed to stand, then everything that happened last night was futile. We'll be basing the future on lies – a lie that just because Voldemort and his followers are dead, then everything is going to be fine. We found out last night there is always going to be ambition, there is always going to be greed, and because of that, innocent people are going to suffer. There is no storybook ending of 'happily ever after'. People need to know that!"

"Let someone else deal with it."

"Professor Dumbledore – Albus – " Snape shook his head in frustration, and leaned forward in his chair. "Have you not realised by now there is no one else?"

"Madam Bones – or you yourself – could make a statement about – "

Snape snorted. "Me? Who is going to believe me – a 'reformed' Death Eater? Headmaster, there are still people who believe I should be in Azkaban, not in Hogwarts. And Madam Bones would not carry enough conviction – still less any of the Wizengamot members who were there last night. There would be some people – not many, true, but enough – who would think it some kind of government conspiracy to discredit Fudge. They believe people like Rita Skeeter because she tells them what they want to hear: scandal and fairy-tales. They believe you because you are the centre of our world."

"I never wanted it. All I ever wanted was to teach at Hogwarts." And Minerva by his side, he added silently.

Snape pursed his lips. "Whether you wanted it or not – it is what it is. People will believe you, and only you. That's why it's your responsibility – and you have to do it now, before this goes any further."

Madam Pomfrey emerged from the bedroom, and both men stood immediately. She shook her head at them. "I'm just going down to the infirmary; there are some things I need."

"Is she – "

"Physically, she's stable for the moment – but there's still no response. I need more information on the spell she used, and I also need to talk to some of the doctors at St. Mungo's. There's some kind of energy drain going on that I don't like at all."

"Energy drain?" Snape looked at her with interest. 'How do you mean?"

Poppy Pomfrey spread her hands helplessly. "I don't know! That's why I'm going to the infirmary to get some equipment to monitor it, and to talk to St. Mungo's. Hopefully they'll have some ideas – and when the others have completed their research we can start piecing it all together. Until then, I – " She stopped when she saw the look on Albus Dumbledore's face. Taking a deep breath, she said firmly, "Physically, she's stable. You can go in and sit with her until I come back if you – "

Albus had already moved past her into the bedroom.

" – like," she finished somewhat wryly. She moved towards the spiral stairwell, but Snape caught at her arm.

"Poppy, how bad is it?"

She hesitated, then lowered her voice so much he had to bend down to catch it. "Severus, she's slipping away. I keep casting spells on her, but they only have a temporary effect. Unless we find a cure…"

"How long?" His throat hurt saying the words.

Tears were in her eyes, and she blinked them back. But she could not stop her voice from catching slightly. "A day. Perhaps three, if we cast energy spells on her in shifts. No more." She moved down the staircase at a run.

Severus Snape stared after her for a long moment, then walked slowly into the bedroom.

***********************

Filius Flitwick ran his hands through his hair again. "Nothing?"

"Not nothing," Professor Binns corrected him, turning yet another page with his ghostly wand. "We've found out a bit more about the spell."

"That it's never been cast, and that the inventor of the curse was tried and executed by the Roman Magisterium of Wizards for daring to create such a dangerous spell," Sprout retorted glumly. "Not a lot of help for Minerva, is it?"

"It's all about the voluntary sacrifice, isn't it?" Professor Vector mused. "The power that makes this spell work is sacrifice. We need to know more about magic based on voluntary sacrifice on an involuntary – or actively resisting - subject."

"And how many books are there which have been written on voluntary sacrifice? I can tell you. Not one." Sprout punched the table for emphasis. "Because it's such a dangerous area that anyone even thinking about researching it usually ends up in some court or another and stopped."

Vector gave the frustrated Herbology professor a sad half-smile without looking up from her book. "Then we're just going to have to look through all the books which even mention the term sacrifice, and try to synthesise a solution from those."

Flitwick gave an involuntary yelp. "In an hour? How in Merlin's name do you propose we look through half this library in an hour? Sprout and I are supposed to be watching over the students!"

"Not just our library," Madam Pince had arrived back, and behind her floated dozens of texts. "Books that contain something, anything, on sacrificial magic from the libraries of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, the Ministry of Magic, the Egyptian School of Curses, and a couple of others. The librarians were very helpful once they knew Minerva needed help." At a wave of her wand the books began neatly piling themselves on nearby tables. As she watched them, she frowned. "For some reason they were under the initial impression that she had died. But they know the truth now, and they'll be sending more books by the Floo network as they find them."

Even Professor Vector looked daunted. "I'm now tempted to agree with Filius. This is impossible."

"Well, I don't agree with myself." Flitwick stood up. 'I'm not facing Dumbledore in an hour's time and telling him I gave up because the job seemed a little too big. The students can just watch over themselves. Let's read like crazy and find out everything we can."

"Right on!" Professor Sprout cheered as she picked up a book.

"Sprouty, where do you find those awful expressions?" Professor Vector asked, scribbling some more notes onto her parchment. 'I know Filius picks them up from you, but – "

"Um… Professors?"

They all looked up into the hesitant faces of a group of seventh-year students.

"We heard there was something wrong with Professor McGonagall."

"Damn," said Sprout.

Madam Pince shot her a look. "Professor McGonagall is … unwell at the moment," she said repressively. "I'm afraid we don't have time to discuss it right now."

"We – we don't want to discuss it," said one, a tall Ravenclaw. "We want to help."

Professor Flitwick looked at them consideringly. "Take one of those books each." He pointed at the texts piled onto the nearest table. "Find a seat, and look through them for anything on the magic of voluntary sacrifice. Anything you find, write down on – " he waved his wand, and a nearby chair was transfigured into a large blackboard, pieces of chalk dangling in mid-air next to it, " - that. We've only got an hour to find out all we can."

The students nodded. Four of them grabbed the nearest book and began. The last, a Slytherin, slipped out. Professor Sprout sniffed.

But a few minutes later, the Slytherin reappeared, leading a group of twenty other seventh and sixth years who had stayed behind in Hogwarts for the holiday. The students immediately picked up more books from the tables without a word and began reading. Then the Slytherin went out again – only to bring back more students…

In a quarter of an hour, the library was full of the students from the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years reading furiously. The first, second and third years silently brought them new texts from the tables and the shelves, and picked up the discarded texts which quickly began to litter the floor, laying them neatly in piles against the walls so there could be no confusion over what had already been read.

There wasn't a single student left in Hogwarts on that third day of holiday who wasn't in the library that hour. And Filius Flitwick had to perform an Engorgement Charm on the blackboard to fit in all the writings.

********************************

Albus was sitting on a chair next to the bed, his eyes fixed on Minerva's face. As Snape walked into the room he stood up.

"She looks somewhat better," he said quietly.

Snape arched an eyebrow involuntarily, but said nothing. To him, Minerva McGonagall did not look better. Her face was paler than the pillows on which it rested, and the only clue that she was alive was the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath the coverlets: but he knew better than to point this out to the Headmaster.

"I won't leave her, Severus."

"You must."

"It is something of a misconception to believe I 'must' do anything." Dumbledore sat back down, still watching Minerva. "We choose our actions, Severus, and I choose to stay here."

Snape took a deep breath. He was not, and never would be, Minerva McGonagall's greatest fan; the two had too many disagreements in their pasts to ever be close. But he had a surprising amount of respect for his abrasive colleague, and to see her lying there, dying, was deeply disturbing to him. And as for Albus Dumbledore, his feelings for him ran deeper than words. He hated himself for what he was about to say.

But he managed to say it nonetheless, because he knew no-one else would. "Professor," his voice was low, "what would she have you do? If she were awake, would she prefer you to be sitting with her, or out there preventing this cover-up?"

There was only one answer to that, and both of them knew it. Dumbledore's eyes changed to a sapphire hardness, and Snape wondered whether he had indeed gone too far. Then Dumbledore said quietly, "This afternoon, I will go to the Ministry of Magic, and do what I can. After the others come back with their research, and we find out what we must do for her. But I will not leave her until then."

Snape bowed his head. "I am sorry, Albus."

Dumbledore said nothing.

Snape looked again at Professor McGonagall's still face. "Sleep well, Minerva," he said with unaccustomed softness, and prepared to leave the room.

"You should get some sleep too, Severus."

He was surprised Albus could even talk to him, after the emotional blackmail he'd just put him through. "I shall be more useful in the library researching than I would be in the dungeons snoring," he replied. "I shall see you shortly."

At that, Dumbledore did look up at him. "Thank you, Severus." He smiled gently.

Snape nodded, and quickly left.

Alone with Minerva, Dumbledore watched her carefully. He was no medic, but it seemed to him that her face had become even paler in the short time he had been in the room. Poppy Pomfrey had said something about an energy drain, and his own senses confirmed her diagnosis.

Could a simple energy spell be the answer? Probably not; but he pulled out his wand from his pocket and held it over her form. Concentrating all his power, he cried out "Energum!"

A vividly golden packet of light suddenly fell over Minerva, tightening around her, brightening until it was painful to look at. Albus collapsed into the chair, exhausted. Despite himself, his eyelids fluttered closed.

*******************************************

When Poppy Pomfrey came back into the room a few minutes later, she saw Minerva, her cheeks now with the faintest tinge of colour, but still unconscious, in the bed – and Albus deeply asleep in the chair next to it. She guessed what he had done, and moved with silent feet around the room to avoid waking him. When she had finished setting up her instruments, she watched the metronome of one silver talisman with hopeful concentration.

But the results weren't good. Albus's massive infusion of energy had only brought Minerva a little more time. The energy drain was still continuing. All she could do was to hope the researchers in the library had better success.


	19. And of Resolving

Professor Snape had one quick stop to make before he went to the library, however; ducking into the nearest empty classroom he cast some powder into the fire and muttered a quick incantation.

Madam Bones's head appeared in the flames with a remarkable suddenness. "Thank Merlin," she said with relief. Then looked around. "Where is he?"

"He doesn't seem to feel that the situation is that urgent."

"Is the man mad?" she shrieked. "I've got utter chaos here. Half the Wizengamot wants to put the whole matter aside and just go with the story the Daily Prophet has put up; and the other damned half is sitting on the fence waiting to see which way the wind blows best for their own careers. Damn it, I need Dumbledore here!"

Snape tried to regain his customary sneer. "He has chosen to remain at Hogwarts – with Professor McGonagall."

"Of course," Amelia Bones's shoulders slumped, and her voice calmed. 'I should have realised… How is she, Snape?"

The sneer kept falling off his face despite his best efforts. "Dying," he said simply. "Poppy Pomfrey gives her a day, three at best."

Madam Bones turned pale. "Surely St. Mungo's – "

"Poppy has already spoken to them this morning; she didn't say anything, but I don't think they gave her much hope either. And Dumbledore won't have her removed, I can assure you."

"My God." She took a deep breath. "It's heartless, but I still need him here, Severus. What happens from here is going to be determined by what he does. He might not realise it yet, but he's bound to be the next Minister of Magic."

"I know," Snape said quietly. "He has promised that he will be there this afternoon. That is as far as he will go."

"Alright. It's almost mid morning now; I'll let the debates continue until he turns up." She paused. "I didn't know Professor McGonagall at all well, but… I am deeply sorry, Severus. She will be a great loss."

He raised his hand, and the flames went out. As he exited the classroom, he muttered, "She isn't lost yet."

********************

When he entered the library, he was stunned at the sight. Every table was crowded with silent students, working furiously. He saw several of his own House among them, and was surprised by a sudden strange pride as he watched them scribbling on the huge blackboard. It wasn't the tradition of Slytherin House to be helpful – at last, not without significant gain for themselves in the process, but… maybe it wasn't such a wonderful tradition anyway.

The five Professors stood before the blackboard, talking vigorously. He glided over to join them.

"… right energy input, it could work!"

"But you're talking about a very potent mix of ingredients." Professor Sprout looked anxious. "That kind of potion could kill her!"

"It's kill or cure now, anyway," Snape said quietly. He cursed himself mentally as the entire room froze.

"Severus?" asked Madam Pince, her question obvious from her wide, fearful eyes. The students looked at him with similar expressions.

It was too late now, he told himself irritably. "Madam Pomfrey estimates a day," he said, more gently than any of them had ever heard him speak. "Perhaps three."

Eyes all around the room suddenly became teary, and the sound of several muffled sobs could be heard.

"Crying won't help her," he snapped. "What have you learned?"

"Severus, you're a bastard," Professor Sprout told him coldly.

"Thank you."

"Unfortunately, though, you are a bastard who is right." She turned to the blackboard and pointed out a patch covered by Filius Flitwick's precise handwriting. "Voluntary sacrifice on an unwilling subject works on an uneven principle – the sacrifice has to be much greater than the purpose it hopes to accomplish," she began, then pointed at another part of the board. "The spell Minerva used names the sacrifice she was willing to make to turn Pettigrew into a rat permanently. Power." Her hand moved to another set of scribbles. "When the spell was first being created, its inventor tried to put limits on the spell; you'll notice it begins by stating both are Animagi. But it didn't work like that, because it was an equal trade – the caster's animagus power to suppress the subject's animagus power."

"So the creator of the spell became more adventurous," Professor Binns took over, indicating a section of rather lopsided writing. "He tried an ever-widening set of limits, trying to determine the minimum of sacrifice needed. But there wasn't a minimum – to perform a Permanent Transfiguration spell on living, resisting beings, the spell demanded no limits be placed. Which is why the spell was outlawed – and voluntary magic isn't practised. How many wizards would want to invoke a spell that once begun, they cannot control?"

"Fascinating as all this history no doubt is for you," Snape bit out, "how precisely does it correlate to a cure for Professor McGonagall?"

"Power, in this case, also equals energy," Flitwick told him rather stiffly. "The spell is draining Minerva of energy, enough to set the spell. And if she really is… is… " He broke off and blew his nose.

"If she is dying, then it is obvious the spell will drain her of energy until her death." Professor Vector was still staring at the blackboard, seemingly unaware that she was speaking. "The sacrifice she pays is her life." She moved closer to the blackboard, frowning. "There's something we're missing here," she murmured to herself.

Professor Sprout shot a look of fury at the oblivious Vector, and sighed. "Yes. But, if we make a potion which combines a great burst of energy, along with some kind of voluntary sacrifice, then maybe that will satisfy the spell's requirements – and Minerva will be spared."

"Hence the 'potent mix of ingredients' you were referring to when I entered," Snape mused. "But what sacrifice were you planning to make? It would have to be something extremely –"

Madam Pince grabbed his arm. "Students," she said loudly. "That will be enough. Thank you for your efforts; but we need you to leave the library now. If the prefects could watch over the students from their houses?"

The prefects nodded and began to herd the students out, watching the professors curiously all the while. Finally the library was empty of all but the six colleagues.

Four of them were watching Snape with some trepidation. Professor Vector was still immersed in the blackboard.

Madam Pince broke the awkward silence. "We decided that the only sacrifice that has a possibility of working was for all of us to suffer pain, and cast the suffering into the potion." She took a deep breath. "None of us can cast Cruciatus. We need you to perform the Cruciatus Curse on all of us."

"You want me to cast an _Unforgivable Curse_ on the _five_ of you?"

"Not me, obviously," Professor Binns said. "As a ghost, I wouldn't feel the curse. But the others – yes."

"Yes," Flitwick, Sprout and Pince chorused. Sprout pinched Professor Vector.

"What? Oh, yes, Cruciatus, yes," Vector murmured without looking around.

Snape looked at all of them in disgust. "Wonderful," he snarled. "Voldemort is finally dead, but I'm still going to end up in Azkaban after all."

**

At the very stroke of the two hour deadline set by Professor Vector Professor Binns floated up the stairwell to the Headmaster's study.

The only person there when he arrived was Madam Pomfrey, who was sitting in one of the armchairs near the fire, gazing intently into the flames.

She jumped when he cleared his throat hesitantly and quickly moved towards him. "What luck?" she questioned urgently.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" he whispered back.

A shadow crossed her face. "Asleep," she said. "And I'd prefer not to wake him unless there's need. He's utterly exhausted."

Binns looked around the room – and finally his eyes settled on the bedroom door. "He's – with – "

"Oh, Binns, don't be ridiculous!" Pomfrey snapped.

"It's – rather improper," he protested feebly.

She shook her head. "She's dying, he's distraught, and you're worried about propriety?" Her face was incredulous. Then her eyes softened. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I'm feeling guilty, I think. Two days ago it seemed so funny to imagine them together – the extremely proper Professor McGonagall being so absolutely improper, and with Dumbledore no less! Now… it's tragic. He's dying inside, watching her." Tears began to fill her eyes.

Binns looked around frantically for a handkerchief, but couldn't find anything that would serve. "Poppy, my dear…"

"I'm sorry." She blinked the tears back. "It's just – it's so obvious he loves her. And I can't do a thing to make her any better."

He took a deep breath. "We may have found something." And he told her of their findings, and the potion that was now being brewed down in Snape's dungeon.

"_Cruciatus?_" she shrieked, then slapped a hasty hand over her own mouth, glancing with worry at the open bedroom door.

He nodded, somewhat abashed by her reaction.

Her eyes were horrified. "Have you all completely lost your minds?" This time she remembered to whisper, but the venom in her voice was unmistakable. "You idiots!"

She kept muttering invectives under her breath as she turned to the table and grabbed her black bag from Dumbledore's desk. "Well, let's go," she announced.

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Someone's going to have to cure them of the after-effects of the curse," she snapped, "and it isn't as if there's anything I can do here. Let's move!"

Both left the study with some speed.

**

Albus Dumbledore awoke to the sound of a commotion in the stairwell. The voices carried clearly.

"Filius, you may be small, but you're no lightweight. That was my foot!"

"I do apologise, Sprouty. Madam Pince pushed me."

"I did no such thing!"

"Could you children possibly stop discussing who pushed whom and concentrate on getting this cauldron up these damned stairs? Thank you so much." Ah. That would be Severus.

He glanced at the bed. Minerva was still there; he noticed with fear there was even less colour in her face now.

"I still think a Mobilicorpus spell would have been easier."

"There's no way I want to even think about casting a spell anywhere near a cauldron containing this potion. One slip, and we could blow up the entire room!"

"Or possibly the castle."

A sudden silence. Then a voice spoke with a studied degree of calm. "Thank you, Sprouty. I feel much better about the entire thing now."

"Being a ghost isn't that bad, you know. After all, one can still teach."

"Thank you for your considered opinion, Professor Binns, but I personally should prefer to discover that for myself in about a hundred years time. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, you understand."

"Severus Snape as a ghost, eternally haunting Hogwarts, and continuing to teach. Given that, I should much prefer the peace of the grave, thank you. I'd imagine most of your students would feel the same way."

"Poppy, that was uncalled for. Severus isn't to blame for this, you know."

"Sorry, Professor Vector; I'm still feeling a little sore."

"You all asked me to do it. There's very little point in being upset about it now."

Albus frowned. What had they been doing? His heart leapt. Had they perhaps found a cure?

He ignored the rest of the discussion, and turned to Minerva. "I promise you, Minerva; you _will_ be well again." With a final long look he left the bedroom.

The colleagues, carrying between them a very large cauldron, entered the study shortly after he did. They very carefully placed the cauldron in the centre of the room, and moved away from it with expressions of great relief.

Without a word he went to the cauldron and looked inside. There was perhaps a tablespoon of a glutinous silvery liquid at the bottom of it. Absolutely nonplussed he stared at the group. "Why didn't you simply bottle it?"

Snape said grimly, "Because when we tried to, the containers vanished as soon as they touched it. It tolerates the cauldron only because this is where it was born."

"You make it sound like it's alive, Severus," Flitwick protested.

Madam Pince mumbled, "I'm not certain it isn't." Poppy Pomfrey caught her eye and offered a small nod of agreement.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Pure energy," Flitwick told him solemnly. The tiny Charms teacher was for once without a trace of a smile. What was in the cauldron obviously scared him as much as it did his colleagues.

Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Will energy alone cure her?" he asked.

Poppy's eyes went around the group. Her six friends all gave her a small nod. She took a deep breath. "Headmaster, what is in that cauldron is the equivalent of a Muggle bomb. We cannot be certain it will cure her. But we are certain that anything less than this has no chance against what she is going through."

Her careful words told him more about Minerva's condition than he had wanted to admit. He nodded slowly. "Then we must attempt it." He reached out to take the handle of the cauldron, but the collective gasp that rose gave him pause. He looked around, puzzled.

"Er, Headmaster?" It was Professor Sprout who spoke. "Perhaps it would be simpler to bring Professor McGonagall into the study?"

Without a word he turned and went into the bedroom. She was dying. There was no choice but to take this risk. He – and she – had taken larger risks than this during their lifetimes, and had won. But his hands were shaking as he lifted Minerva, bedclothes and all, into his arms, and carried her into the study.


	20. And of Resolve Met

The seven staff of Hogwarts showed no surprise that he chose to carry Minerva McGonagall rather than simply float her into the room. Indeed, they seemed to have expected it.

Madam Pince gave a small cry when she saw how white Minerva's face was above the burgundy and gold quilt that swathed her round: but the rest of the room was in utter silence. As he moved with Minerva in his arms to the cauldron, Dumbledore realised he was not alone in his terror.

"_Lectum stenere_", he whispered, and the nearest chair expanded into the familiar red and gold couch. He began to lay her onto it; but Madam Pomfrey shook her head.

"I need her sitting up," she explained quietly. He nodded, and suddenly fat cushions winked into existence and Minerva was propped against them.

Professor Binns moved to the cauldron, and dipped his ghostly hands into it. When he lifted them from the cauldron's depths the silvery liquid was cupped within, moving sluggishly.

"It feels… so strange," he murmured, and on his face there was a look of dreamy confusion.

"Binns!" Madam Pomfrey gestured fiercely, and the History Professor drifted to her. He held his cupped hands to Minerva's lips, and Poppy Pomfrey gently opened her mouth. Then the liquid, as though it were in truth alive, slipped inside seemingly of its own accord, and Poppy gently stroked Minerva's throat to make sure she swallowed it.

Then a soundless explosion hit them, beating furiously against their eardrums; and the light was so bright they held up their arms to ward it off, tightly scrunching their eyes closed.

When the light faded they crowded around the couch eagerly.

**

The last thing she could remember was Pettigrew. The spell. And, Merlin, such pain! She moved restlessly in remembrance of the pain, but something had cocooned her, wrapping her round so tightly that she couldn't move. And it was far too hot…

Her eyelids fluttered open to the sight of Albus's blue, anxious eyes. At the sight of her frown of puzzlement an utter joy suddenly flooded those familiar eyes, so complete that her frown began to slip away in response. She tried to move her hand, but it only moved an inch away from the silk of her… petticoat? She was wrapped in a mass of burgundy and gold satin, and –

She shrieked, trying to clutch the quilt closer to her. "What in the name of all the gods is going on here?" she snapped, glaring at the eight faces that surrounded her. "And why, in Merlin's name, am I sitting here in my – like this?"

Madam Pomfrey and Irma Pince sank onto the floor of the study, and hugged each other, laughing while tears ran down their faces. The cool, unemotional Professor Vector suddenly burst into noisy sobs, and she sank to the floor as well. Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Binns started laughing hysterically and began to dance around the room.

Severus Snape at least seemed unmoved. "Well, it's certainly Minerva McGonagall." Then she saw that his eyes were also filled with tears. He turned away resolutely, and she saw his hands come over his face.

"Would someone please explain – "

But she was ignored. Poppy reached out an arm and pulled Professor Vector into the embrace. The three dancing professors were now swinging each other madly throughout the room, whooping happily. She turned to Albus, who was still kneeling beside the couch.

"Albus, what is going on?" She was thoroughly exasperated.

"We feared you were dying," he said simply, and her exasperation vanished.

"The spell…" she murmured. He nodded.

"Yes." His eyes suddenly hardened. "Using that spell was unbelievably foolish, Minerva."

Her chin came up proudly. "I believe I am quite capable of determining…"

"You could have been killed!" he roared. The dancing and laughing immediately stopped dead. The three sobbing, erstwhile smiling witches on the floor looked up and the tears dried on their shocked faces as the temperature in the room seemed suddenly to drop.

"I understood the risks perfectly well." Her voice was ice. "And I am not a student to be lectured, Albus Dumbledore. I will thank you to remember that!"

He stood up, towering over her. "I am well aware that you are not a student, Professor McGonagall." His eyes were now furious. "Though if I could I would make you one again, until you learned not to risk your life in such a manner!"

She tried to get to her feet, but the quilt made it impossible. She could not even move her hands to get it off. "I should like my clothes," she demanded. "Please!"

He waved a hand sharply, and suddenly she was clad not in a quilt, but in an ornate burgundy and gold gown. She too waved her hand; and the trailing wisps of dark hair that had been floating around her face began to reshape themselves into her customary bun even as she leaped up from the couch. How dared the man scold her!

But before she could open her mouth to refute him, a more composed Severus was between them.

"Forgive me, Professors," he said urbanely. "But the Headmaster is urgently required at the Ministry of Magic."

"Then," she snapped, not moving her glare from an equally angry Dumbledore, "I see no reason why he is still here!"

"I believe," Snape murmured, his customary smirk returning to his face, "that the reason he gave at the time was 'I will not leave her until she is well'."

"Oh." She felt colour rise to her cheeks.

A certain colour tinged those of Albus, too; and his eyes lost some of their sapphire hardness.

"So," Severus continued, "since you are so manifestly well – "

Severus Snape seemed to be having a great deal of fun… at her expense. Her erstwhile glare returned, but it was not now aimed at Albus. Snape stepped back.

"Definitely well," he muttered. He turned to Dumbledore, gesturing to the open fireplace. "Headmaster?"

Albus Dumbledore nodded, but turned to Minerva. His voice had returned to a more normal pitch. "I should like, Professor McGonagall, to speak to you this evening, if you are free."

She inclined her head. "As you wish, Headmaster." She sat back down on the couch.

"Minerva." She looked up at him again. "It is so good to see you well again."

She let out a soft breath. "It is good to be well, Albus."

A shared smile – and he and Snape disappeared in a green flash of Floo powder.

She looked into the open-mouthed faces of her six colleagues. "What?" she questioned irritably.

They stared at her for a moment, then looked questioningly at each other. "Definitely love," they chorused. Then fell about, laughing hysterically.

Professor Minerva McGonagall crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and waited disapprovingly for sanity to return to the room.

It was a long time coming.

**

Dumbledore moved quietly into the Great Chamber of the Wizengamot, Snape close behind him. Both were stunned into temporary immobility by the huge wave of applause that suddenly reverberated throughout the Chamber.

Snape, watching individual faces in the crowd, saw more than simple happiness on many of them. He saw frowns, carefully hidden; he saw well-concealed panic; on others he saw worried lines in expressions trying desperately to appear carefree. He nodded to himself. Some of the witches and wizards cheering in this room had profited handsomely in the years of Cornelius Fudge's tenure as Minister of Magic. They had good reason to be concerned at the sudden upheaval.

Dumbledore moved again, into the centre of the vast room, and held up his hands for quiet. "Please! It is enough." Slowly the applause began to die down, and people began to take their seats again.

Snape took up a station near the door, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. As a non-member of the Wizengamot he should not be in the chamber at all, but he admitted to himself a strong desire to see how the following scene would play out. He did not regard many of the Wizengamot as particular friends, given that most of them had voted for his permanent incarceration in Azkaban.

Madam Bones, seated near the front of the room, noticed him, and gave him an almost imperceptible smile of gratitude. He nodded once, then ignored her, fixing instead his attention upon Dumbledore.

The greatest wizard in the world was frowning.

But his voice was soft as he began. "You will all be glad to know," he said softly, "that Professor McGonagall has recovered from the after-effects of the spell she cast upon Peter Pettigrew last night. Because of her willingness to sacrifice herself for the greater good, we are now free of Voldemort's Death Eaters forever."

The applause began again, but he cut it off with an outstretched hand.

"But how long will it be before another group of ambitious sorcerers is formed, and what name will they then chose?"

Everyone looked puzzled. Dumbledore let the silence rest for a moment, and then continued.

"Last night, we learned that it was not the title of Death Eater which has caused so much pain amongst us; but instead the propensity for ambition, greed, and cruelty which lurks inside everyone's heart. One of our own, Cornelius Fudge, caused the riot at Azkaban, removed the three most well-known Death Eaters, tortured them in hiding, and killed two of them before being killed himself by the third – while he was attempting my own murder. Cornelius did not do these things from anger at these people, but for the political gain he saw accruing from the carefully twisted public perception of some of these acts. Yet he was never a Death Eater; he was one of our own.

"So I ask you again: how soon will it be before a new group is formed, and what name will they take?"

Silence; then on one of the faces which Snape had noted panic shone sudden comprehension. "You will lead us, Albus Dumbledore!" the wizard cried. "As our Minister of Magic, you will guide us away from harm!"

Suddenly the room was cheering again.

"I WILL NOT!" The shout that filled the room was so loud Snape thought he felt the pillar against which he was leaning shake.

The cheering cut off abruptly. "I will not," Dumbledore reiterated, more quietly this time, but no less filled with resolve.

Snape felt his heart sink. What was he doing? About to be voted Minister of Magic, by general acclamation no less, and given the chance to rebuild the wizarding world – and he was turning it down? What had they done all this fighting for, if not for that?

Dumbledore's eyes met his, even hidden as he was; and in their wise depths was a glimmer of that familiar twinkle which said in a brief second, "I know everything you are thinking, Severus… but you are still wrong."

"It is time," Dumbledore's voice was soft, almost gentle, "for us all to take responsibility for ourselves. I fought and won against Grindlewald, yes, but I did so with the aid of a large group of people, some of whose names will not be noted on any plaque of honour. Harry and I have fought against Voldemort and won, yes; but we did so with the aid of others who have bled and died so that the end could be achieved. It is time the wizarding world stopped seeking heroes who will handle these evils and began to take personal responsibility for their own actions and choices. The only responsibility I will shoulder is that of the children under my care at Hogwarts, who are not yet of an age to choose wisely for themselves which path they will follow.

"To this end, therefore, I resign as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. As it is the prerogative of the Chief Warlock to name their own successor, I hereby nominate Madam Amelia Bones as the Chief Warlock. She will lead you in argument to create consensus; and that is exactly how it should be. Moreover she has a great heart, remarkable strength, and the ability to tell someone when he is being too self-pitying for his own – or others - good."

Madam Bones was looking completely horrified at her sudden ascension.

"She also," the twinkle in his eyes was very pronounced, "has a wide variety of hexes which serve to silence people most effectively. Another valuable asset in a Chief Warlock, I do believe."

With that, Dumbledore left the podium, and moved swiftly to a stunned Snape. "I feel our business here is complete, Severus. Shall we go?"

"You – you just –"

"Come, come, Severus. There is another appointment awaiting us, and we should not keep him waiting." He moved out the door just as the whispering began in the chamber, and Snape blindly followed.

"What appointment?"

"With Mr. Lovegood, the editor of – ah, yes, 'The Quibbler'. To give a full account of what happened last night."

"That tabloid rag?"

"I find the articles in 'The Quibbler' most entertaining, Severus," Dumbledore said in mild reproof.

"Why do you want to talk to him? Why not the 'Daily Prophet'?"

"Unfortunately, Severus, I believe the 'Daily Prophet' has spent too much time as the only voice of the wizarding community. The difficulties it has caused by distorting the facts over the last few years should never have happened." They were moving up a flight of stairs to the general visitors area. "The abuse of their power, and the lack of responsibility they have shown to the truth is something which also needs to cease."

Snape bit back a sudden grin as Dumbledore greeted the rather shabbily dressed wizard who was awaiting them near a small fountain. Despite Albus Dumbledore's refusal to become Minister of Magic and his resignation from the Wizengamot, he was still making decisions that would shake the entire wizarding world. That was Dumbledore's own personal sense of responsibility, as much a part of him as his magical abilities, and Snape felt a certain degree of relief that at least this had not changed at all.

It was well into the afternoon before they had finished telling their story to Lovegood, and Snape was looking forward to the silence of his dungeons and perhaps a few hours of sleep when Dumbledore stopped him just before they were about to enter the large fireplace in the atrium. "Would you mind making yet another stop with me, Severus?"

Snape shoved aside his tiredness with an effort. "Where to?"

"Diagon Alley."

Snape couldn't remember the last time Dumbledore had been to Diagon Alley. He shrugged casually. "Why not?"

Once there, Dumbledore made a beeline for one particular store. Snape's eyes widened.

Later, as they walked out of the shop, he said, "I really don't see why you couldn't have just created one yourself."

"I wanted it to be real. Something which has been made strong in the Earth by a thousand years."

"It would be just as real if you created it. It's not as if she'd ever know the difference."

A smile tweaked under Dumbledore's beard. "Someday you will understand the difference, my friend," he said. "And I shall be delighted when that day comes."

"Headmaster, what have I done to annoy you lately?"

Dumbledore chuckled.

"McGonagall-Dumbledore." Snape shook his head. "The names sound even more ridiculous hyphenated than they do apart."

Dumbledore was still laughing as they hurtled through the Floo Network to Hogwarts and home.

**

Professor McGonagall gave up. Her giggling colleagues were proving impossible to talk to.

One last shot. "Will one of you please –"

Irma Pince jumped up and hugged her.

'Irma!" she protested.

"I'm just so glad you're well," and then the prim librarian began to cry again. "And I'm so glad you and Albus are together."

That set the rest off. Before she could move she was enveloped by the crying, laughing, Professor Vector, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Sprout.

"… so sweet…"

The rough-and-tumble Sprouty was saying something was 'sweet'. Without sarcasm?

"… he adores you so…"

She'd obviously given Vector too much credit for good sense in the past.

"… almost cried at the look in his eyes while you were ill…"

Poppy Pomfrey really was ridiculous. Although she couldn't help but wonder for a second just what was this look she was talking about.

Filius Flitwick and Professor Binns took advantage of her immobile state to plant kisses of congratulations of her cheeks.

"Welcome back, Minerva," Flitwick squeaked. "And congratulations. You and Albus make a wonderful couple, really."

"Yes," said Professor Binns. "I was a little concerned at first, but, truly, I wish you both the very best."

They were talking like she and Albus were – were… It was only yesterday that they had started (she blushed slightly) courting, and now - This was insane!

"Get off me!" she snapped. The classroom voice achieved the objective; wiping their eyes, but still smiling, her colleagues stepped back. She rose from the couch. "Albus and – that is, Professor Dumbledore and I," she corrected herself quickly, "are good friends and colleagues. Anything else between us is… is very recent, and is not up for a public discussion!"

They grinned like loons.

"Thank you for your help in restoring me, I do appreciate it," she said before her temper could really take hold. "But if you will excuse me, I should like to find some proper clothes, and see how my students are doing."

They nodded, still smiling.

"The prefects are currently watching over the students from their houses," Flitwick said, "but they could probably do with a break by now."

"And I should get back and tidy up the library," Irma Pince smiled at her restored friend, and despite herself Minerva found she was smiling back. Even when they were acting like – what was the phrase the students used? Oh, yes, "a pack of nutters", she was really quite fond of her colleagues. And she suspected that today she had a lot to thank them for.

Finally, still murmuring words of encouragement and happiness, they had left and the study was quiet. "Accio clothes," she said, but instead of flying up from the infirmary, or the Ravenclaw tower where her temporary room was, her clothing from the previous night hurtled towards her from Albus's bedroom. Her eyebrows raised high she picked up the clothing and went into the room.

She blinked at the sight of the denuded bed. So this was where the Transfigured dress had come from! She had been put here while she had been ill. But why? There was no earthly reason… Unless… Unless he –

"… _he adores you so…"_

- he had wanted her close.

Her heart beat a little faster. She shook her head, and began trying to get the dress off. The least she could do was to give him back his quilt.

"Damned buttons," she swore. Tiny, fiddly things all down the back of the bodice. Trust Albus to create a dress so filled with useless furbelows.

"Oh, Minerva, why are you taking it off?" She swung round in surprise. 'It looks so lovely on you."

"Considering it's really Albus's quilt I don't think I should be wearing it round the school, Poppy," McGonagall retorted.

"I doubt that he'd care, given how you look in it." Poppy Pomfrey grabbed Minerva McGonagall by the elbow and pulled her in front of the mirror. "It looks so much better than your normal teaching clothes, it's just ridiculous. The colour looks gorgeous on you, and it flatters your figure so well –"

"It doesn't flatter my figure at all," McGonagall said with some asperity. "It just shows more of it!"

"Then you should show it more often," Poppy said promptly. "Honestly, if I were your age, and still had a figure like that –"

She was rather surprised Poppy couldn't hear her teeth grinding. "What did you come here for, Madam Pomfrey? I can't believe it was to discuss my dress sense!"

Poppy grinned, but at least she did let go of her elbow. "I came back for some of my instruments," she said, pointing to a silver object on the nightstand. Then she paled.

The metronome on the talisman was still ticking. She watched it in horror.

"Poppy?" Minerva was alarmed at the look on the woman's face. "Poppy, what is it?"

When Poppy turned to look at her, the nurse had tears trickling down her face.

'Oh, Minerva. I am so sorry."


	21. A Night of Pain And Joy

At the end of the evening they were alone in Albus's study, drinking tea and staring into the flames.

It had been Professor Vector who had worked out why the energy potion had not succeeded. "We were trying to achieve an impossibility," she had finished quietly. "We attempted to reverse a sacrifice. But by its very nature a sacrifice, once made, can't be taken back."

Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, had raised his head slowly. "But perhaps a greater sacrifice, another's life in sacrifice for Professor McGonagall's…"

Vector shook her own head. "It still wouldn't work, Headmaster." She sighed. "It would need more than one life – even two – for the law of voluntary sacrifice to work. Even – " she hesitated, "even your life wouldn't be sufficient."

"And I would never permit you to try it, Albus Dumbledore." Minerva was very definite on that point. "Or," she said firmly, "anyone else."

Poppy Pomfrey sobbed audibly in the nearest chair. Minerva turned to her. "I'm feeling perfectly well right now. Why can't I just continue taking the potion?"

Poppy blew her nose. "The potion is simply too strong, Minerva. It would restore your energy, yes, but your heart wouldn't withstand the shock of a second dose. Even simple energy spells would be dangerous to try on you now."

Minerva felt her own heartbeat thump against her ribs; but her voice was calm as she asked the only question left. "How long do I have, Poppy?"

The school nurse spread her hands helplessly. "I can't tell, Minerva. Right now, as you say, you are feeling fine. Until you start feeling the effects of the energy drain I can't measure the rate of loss. It could be weeks – or months – I don't know."

Albus, his tone as saddened and heavy as she had ever heard it, said, "The only thing left for us to do, it seems, is to conserve your energy as much as possible."

"If by that you are implying that I'm to give up teaching, you are greatly mistaken," she announced.

"Minerva! You are… are…" He couldn't seem to bring himself to say the word.

So she said it for him. "Dying." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes. But right now, I am fine. When I begin to feel that I am not fine, I will retire, and leave Hogwarts. But until then," her fierce expression surprised them all, "the students are to know nothing of this. Nothing. Let them believe that the spell worked. They have been through enough with this war. I will not have them put through more for – " and for the first time her voice faltered, "for me."

Albus looked ready to argue, but Poppy forestalled him. "She's made her decision, Headmaster, and as her medical advisor I'll go along with it. Provided, however, that she promises to come to the infirmary every day for me to check on her."

Minerva hated the infirmary, but she knew an ultimatum when she heard one. "I agree."

Albus shook his head, but said nothing more. The three witches prepared to leave, but Professor McGonagall was stopped near the door by a quiet low voice. "Minerva. Please, if you would… stay."

Pomfrey and Vector said nothing. They each pressed her hand as they passed her on their way out of the study.

Silence grew in the room as she stood facing Albus. Then, with a brief movement of his hand, a fire suddenly blossomed in the empty fireplace and the small table near the two comfortable chairs held a steaming pot of tea and two cups. She moved towards her accustomed seat, and he rose from behind his desk to join her.

They sat, still wrapped in silence, watching the flames as the sky in the windows lost its crimson streaks and faded inexorably into black.

She was grateful to him for the kindness of silence. She wanted these moments to last forever: the comforting warmth of the tea between her hands, the flickering glimmers of the fire, and the feeling of his presence in the chair opposite. If those three things were everything in the world, then they were enough.

But she knew, more surely now than ever before, that nothing is forever; and so was neither surprised nor regretful when he said, "Do you wish to go to the Great Hall for dinner?"

She shook her head slowly. She knew the students would be anxious about her, and she hated herself for not daring to go down; but she could not, for all her courage, face them yet. Not tonight.

Albus, as he so often did, seemed to read her mind. "One night is not so much to ask, Minerva," he said quietly. He snapped his fingers and Winky the house-elf appeared, looking expectant.

"Winky, could you please inform Professor Snape that Professor McGonagall and I will not –"

"Not Severus!" Minerva exclaimed.

Albus looked at her, puzzled.

She blushed. It all seemed faintly ridiculous, now, but she would still prefer it if someone else were to explain their combined absence to the students. 'Perhaps… Professor Vector?" Yes. Vector generally showed good sense.

His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he complied, and Winky was sent off with the altered instructions. Barely had the house-elf gone however when the low table between them shimmered and grew, suddenly sprouting golden tableware on a snowy cloth.

Minerva's eyes widened slightly when the tall floating candles appeared, giving off a gentle glow and the scent of… roses? Her mouth twitched and, looking quickly at Dumbledore, she saw the briefest glimmer of a twinkle reappear in his blue eyes. Clearly the house-elves had their own opinion of what should happen in a private dinner between the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress.

But, she reminded herself as a delicious spread suddenly apparated on the golden plates, this night was not a beginning, but instead – a farewell. Who knew how soon the end would come? It was now only certain that it would end.

The thought gave her a strange, fate-filled courage. She picked up her knife and fork, and said calmly, "By the way, Albus, I do love you."

He choked on his first mouthful.

**

Downstairs in the Great Hall several students were doing likewise.

Minerva McGonagall was correct in many of the characteristics she had imputed to Professor Vector. The Arithmancy professor was respectful of the privacy of others, would never dream of gossiping with students, and was scrupulously honest.

Unfortunately Minerva had forgotten one thing in making her selection – Professor Vector was also a spectacularly bad liar. And since she now believed there was a romantic relationship between the two teachers upstairs, and she also knew Minerva wished to keep secret her actual state of health, the resultant announcement was filled with enough hesitations, stammers, and blushes to start a thousand rumours – all with the same conclusion.

Severus Snape watched with some amusement as the rumours visibly took hold, and the Great Hall broke into riot.

Many of the students were cheering. Loudly. Making their approval very definitely known. Professor Flitwick rose and walked over to them, and they took to their seats quickly… but the large smiles did not fade.

Others were cradling their heads in their hands, looking as if they were in definite need of a Cheering Charm, should Professor Flitwick care to notice. Some were shuddering.

And the conversations were all on the same topic. If the opportunity had arisen, Snape mused, he would have bet a month's supply of coffee on it. He sat, alone among his glum colleagues, with a slight smile on his face.

He was Potions Master at this school. And he was not giving up. There was an antidote for Minerva McGonagall somewhere, and he would find it. Even if it killed him.

Finally it happened. A sixth year Hufflepuff leapt up from his chair and howled.

"They're in love with each other? Fine! They've been seeing each other for years? Fine! They're up there right now snogging each other senseless? Fine! But _I don't want to talk about it!_ I _especially_ don't want to talk about it over _dinner_!"

In the sudden shocked silence a strange new sound began. Something similar to a rusty saw biting through dead wood.

Professor Snape was laughing. He laughed until tears started to form in his eyes.

Suddenly afraid, the students fell silent, finishing their food with amazing rapidity.

Still chuckling, oblivious of the angry stares of his colleagues, Snape wiped his eyes with a corner of his napkin.

It might be Gryffindor bravery to be calm in the face of impending death, but Slytherin House preferred to use their cunning to find a way to avoid the necessity. And had he known how events were to unfold, he would have laughed harder. But his laughter would have been edged with wonder, and with pride.

**

Albus swallowed, with some difficulty.

"I felt you should know that," she finished, and began cutting up her meat.

His hand over hers stopped her. She looked up into eyes that held no twinkle, but seemed instead bluer and deeper than the lake outside.

"Minerva…" he began. Suddenly the table between them disappeared, and both were standing. He held both her hands in his.

"I was looking forward to that meal, Albus," she protested.

"I'll bring it back directly," he promised. He drew her closer. "Did you mean…"

"What I said?" she finished. Her head tilted upwards in challenge. "Yes. I love you, Albus Dumbledore."

"Minerva…" He spilled out her name with the breath he had been holding. "I love you, Minerva McGonagall."

She felt a sudden shiver of delight, everything else forgotten in the wonder of hearing him say those words. Her eyes were wide.

His own breath caught again, at the sight of her well-loved face, so close to his. And she loved him. She was his, as he had always been hers. And… he was going to lose her. Without thinking further he moved forward.

She was in his arms, held tightly. Her own arms reached up to clasp him close. And they stayed there, together; then her head came up from where it was buried in his shoulder. She smiled at him.

"I'm glad that is settled," she said primly.

"As am I."

His hand came up to whisk away the single tear which had fallen on her cheek.

"Are you hungry, Minerva?"

"Ravenous, Albus."

"Shall we dine?"

"What a splendid suggestion." And with a wave of his hand, the table reappeared, and they seated themselves. After a minute. Or two.

**

Suddenly it seemed as if a dam had burst. Dinner took hours, and seemed to fly by, each bite interspersed with laughter and conversation. Luckily the plates were self-warming, or the dinner would have been spoiled by the storm of do-you-remember's that had struck them both.

They didn't discuss the past few days – or the future.

In the middle of laughing at Minerva's acidly observed narration of the Weasley twins' final farewell to the school the table between them shrank in size, and they found themselves seated again on the two comfortable chairs by the glowing coals of the fire.

Minerva snorted. "Have you ever thought the house-elves watch you too closely?" she enquired.

He chuckled. "I believe that might be Winky's doing. She's very zealous."

Suddenly the house elf in question appeared, carrying a tray on which rested a teapot and other necessities. She quietly laid them onto the small table and curtsied, holding the tray in front of her. "Winky very happy to be serving Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall," she said. Then she smiled demurely. "And Winky not be watching for the rest of the night."

With that announcement, the house elf disappeared, but her smile seemed to linger behind her. Professor McGonagall blushed slightly.

"She's also very observant," she murmured.

"Yes," Albus said as he began to pour the tea. "I tried to free her, like Dobby, but then I made the mistake of asking her what she wanted to do with her life, and promising to help her gain it. As a result I have my own personal house elf." He handed her a cup, but she placed it back on the table. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't particularly feel like tea at the moment. Do you?"

He frowned slightly. "Well, I – "

He didn't get a chance to make his views known as with a wave of her hand the table disappeared entirely. She stood up.

"Minerva?" He knew it was late, but he still did not want her to go.

"Hush, Albus," she commanded quietly. With one quick step she was next to his chair. She knelt in front of him, and took a deep breath.

He watched her, puzzled. But a part of him was mesmerized by the picture she made. Minerva McGonagall in a gown of burgundy and gold, her beloved face gently shadowed by flickering candlelight and the glowing embers of fire. He could have watched her thus for a thousand years and not tired of the vision.

Then Minerva's hand came up to rest at the back of his neck, and she moved closer still, until her lips rested softly against his own.

Albus could not stop himself from responding from her gentle kiss, nor could he prevent his hands from going to her waist and drawing her ever closer. He was suddenly helpless against this need to feel Minerva, warm and soft and responsive, against him… until they were pressed completely together, his arms around her tightly, her hands in his hair. And the kiss stopped being gentle, and warmed, deepened, into something more passionate, and even more compelling.

That small moan she made, and Albus felt something deep inside himself respond with a sudden intense hunger. He wanted… how he wanted…

He broke off the kiss, even though every part of him cried out against it. Her eyes were hazed and confused. "Albus?" she questioned, through lips swollen from his kiss. He tried to remember how to breathe. "Albus, did you not want to kiss me?"

"Minerva." He whispered her name. "I could kiss you forever, and never tire of it. But I think we must…" He did not want to stop, did not want even to think about letting her go, but he knew he must.

"Albus." Her hand came to gently rest against his face, caressing his cheek. "My dear, we don't have forever anymore. We must take the moments we have, instead."

His arms around her tightened in his sudden fear. He would lose her. Very soon. Albus buried his face in Minerva's neck, concentrating on the wonderful scent of her skin, trying not to think of a future without her in it.

Minerva allowed it for a moment, then gently broke away. With difficulty he forced himself to let her go. She stood in front of him, holding out her hands. Albus stood and took them in his own. Such small delicate hands resting in his. Small, delicate, capable, and powerful hands, just as Minerva McGonagall herself was. A mass of contradictions resulting in his greatest friend… and only love.

"One night," her voice was very low, "one night is not so much to ask, is it, Albus?"

His eyes widened at the implications of her question.

"Minerva… Beloved," his voice was as low as hers had been. "I love you. There is no need…"

A small smile crossed Minerva's face as she shook her head. "You misunderstood. I am not asking you if you have need. I am asking you for this night. For I… have need."

"I wouldn't dishonour you, Minerva."

"There is no dishonour in this, Albus Dumbledore. And we are both old enough to know our own minds." She let go of his hands and moved a step away. "I am asking you, this night, to be my love."

On legs that seemed suddenly to belong to someone else, Albus moved towards her. "Minerva McGonagall, I will… be your love. Not just for this night, but for all time."

They moved together into the bedroom, and this time when the kiss began there was no desire - or move - on either part to stop it.

**

Later they lay underneath the covers on his bed, cradling each other. The room was candlelit and silent, save for the sound of their breathing, and the slow ticking of the metronome of the talisman Poppy had inadvertently left in the room. Albus glared at it, and lifted his hand to translocate it back to the infirmary.

Minerva, guessing his intention, laid her hand on his arm. "Don't," she said quietly.

"We don't need it here. We know what it is telling us."

"It's a good reminder, my Albus." Her eyes were very serious as she looked into his. "It tells us we must make good use of the time we have left."

His arm came down to tighten around her. "I have loved you, my Minerva, even before I knew you. I have loved you, and waited for you, my entire life. And whatever time that thing tells us we have, that will never change."

And then, finally, the tears came from her for the time she could not share with him. And as he held Minerva to him, as her sobbing died into sleep, Albus held back his own pain. There would be a time for that; for now, he was hers, and she his, and that was all, he told himself fiercely, all that mattered.

Eventually, tangled in one another, they both slept.


	22. True Dawn

Just before dawn the silence of the empty study was suddenly punctured by the sound of hundreds of tiny sighs.

The portrait of Dilys Derwent shook her head slowly. "Those two – are truly remarkable," she commented quietly.

"They certainly are," Armando Dippet concurred. He vanished from his frame to reappear in hers. Taking her painted hands in his, he smiled softly. "If things had been different, Dilys, perhaps we may have had… something similar."

She squeezed his hands in agreement. "I'd like to think so, Armando."

"I'm glad," he said simply. Then he looked around the study, at the hundreds of portraits of dead Headmasters and Headmistresses which littered its walls. "Shall I do the honours, Dilys, or would you prefer to?"

"Go right ahead, Armando dear."

He inclined his head in thanks, then raised his voice. "Past Heads of Hogwarts School, I bid ye list!"

All noise ceased as the archaic words rang through the room.

"I call upon ye, shades of life, to make sacrifice for the good of all Wizardry!"

A bearded portrait hastily interrupted. "Steady on, old boy. You can't make that claim! Only the current Headmaster can make that claim upon us – and only then if the school is in mortal peril. That's the oath which binds us."

Armando shrugged. "Technically, Fortescue, you are right; but – "

"I tell thee truth, there be no 'buts' within our oath, Armando Dippet," a skinny witch in crimson velvet cut in, hands clenched around her ancient wooden frame. "Fortescue be right. I care not how thee and Dilys might make malicious whisper upon me for my thought; yet will I adhere me only to mine oath. Which thou canst not call upon me."

A chorus of agreement rumbled from many of the other pictures. Dilys glared at them – especially at those who only this morning had promised to support she and Armando's proposal. But for once, they simply glared back. This was not an argument many of them were prepared to lose. Too much rode upon it.

Emboldened by the evident support, another wizard, this one in robes of blue and silver, spoke up. "We gave an oath as the Heads of Hogwarts to sacrifice our last glimmers of life _only_ if the castle – or the wizarding world – is in mortal peril. Right now the castle is strong and steadfast; our students are safe; and now Voldemort is gone, there are no foes to threaten us. I mourn for Minerva McGonagall – she has been a fine teacher, and will be a great loss; but she made her own choices. And, as we well know," he smiled slightly, "death is a natural part of life. Our duty is clear. Dumbledore will still be here, and will need our advice for many years to come. And thus you cannot call in our oaths."

A chorus of similar sentiments beat against Armando and Dilys at the blue robed wizard's final words. They exchanged a worried look. This wasn't going well, for all their careful lobbying.

Nonetheless Dilys opened her mouth to refute the argument – but another voice forestalled her. A nasal voice which, unlike the voices of the other portraits which had grown high and tinny in their anger, rang like a bell through the room, cold, deep, and powerful.

"You fools."

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who until now had been pensively staring into the ashes of the fireplace, looked around the room with eyes as cold and fierce as those of a roused snake.

The other pictures were stunned into immobility as those eyes seemed to mark each one with immense contempt.

"Do you really believe what you have argued – or are you all hiding behind technicalities because you are afraid? Then listen to me, you who would say your oaths don't apply now. I tell you, I, the only Headmaster of Hogwarts who was raised in the House of the Serpent, that Hogwarts is in mortal peril. And by my House, which values cunning above bravery, verity above intellect, necessity above ethics, you may indeed know my words for truth."

Eyes wide, the portraits listened as the cold voice continued.

"Hogwarts is the oldest of the wizarding schools; founded over a thousand years ago to teach these children of ours not just the magic they are capable of, but when to wield it, and when to refrain. Thus have we taught the generations not only magic but justice… and sometimes, even mercy.

"Other schools have been created since; but they were begun by those who had already been shaped by Hogwarts – and so, to this day, Hogwarts remains at the heart of the wizarding world.

"And for many years, Albus Dumbledore has been the heart of Hogwarts. He has been central in the defeat of two wizards who would have destroyed even the concepts of justice and mercy; who would have used the world for their own amusement. Had it not been for Dumbledore, our world, and even that of the Muggle world, would have been drowned in blood.

"But if Dumbledore is the heart of Hogwarts, and Hogwarts is the heart of the wizarding world, what then is the heart of Albus Dumbledore?"

They watched him, mesmerised. Dilys felt tears pricking her painted eyes as Phineas pointed to the place where the bedroom door would have been visible.

"She is. Minerva McGonagall. She is his heart, as well as his right hand. It may be Gryffindor foolishness to give oneself so completely to another, but that is what the two of them have done. Absolute trust, absolute faith, absolute," he paused, sighed, and said it.

"Absolute love."

He stopped for a moment. The room was utterly still.

When he continued, his voice was much softer, but no less compelling.

"My colleagues – what happens to a man when his heart is torn away? Do you truly believe he will continue to sit here in his study, asking our advice, while in the castle the students will happily continue to learn right from wrong? Can you see that?

"No. He will fade away, losing all interest in the world – because his reason to love the world will be gone. How long before he follows her?

"He is the greatest of us all, and in this shattered world he is needed to rebuild it. He doesn't require our advice, he hasn't needed it for years; all the knowledge and power necessary to care for our world and guide our children rests where it has always rested – in his great mind, and in the love he bears for all. But the source of all his love is her.

"If the heart is gone, the body fails. If the heart of Hogwarts is crushed, then Hogwarts is doomed. And without Hogwarts, how long before the wizarding world is lost?"

Tears were streaming down Dilys' face; and with a quick glance upwards she saw them shimmering also on Armando's cheek.

"I am a Slytherin; the only Slytherin here. I hold no brief for love or affections – only for necessity and the truth. I tell you, Hogwarts is in mortal peril. And I, the Slytherin Headmaster, call your oaths in."

He fell silent, and for a long moment the world seemed silent too.

Then a small voice spoke up. "But… I do not wish to die, Phineas."

Phineas smiled strangely. "We are already dead. But if we do this, if we give up this shadow life we cling to, then we have the power to give another - life. And yet another, love. It seems to me a very fair exchange."

Armando's arms had found their way around Dilys' waist, and Dilys found herself grateful for their support as Phineas said:

"I, who was once Headmaster of Hogwarts, surrender myself to the oath I swore. _Per sacrificium mihi, sino fieri_!"

And there was nothing in his portrait frame, and a small green flame burned in the centre of room. Fire, burning from nothingness.

Fortescue sighed and rubbed his already-reddened nose. "Well, I'll be damned before I'm beaten in courage by a Slytherin." He looked around at the others. "See you on the other side." A deep breath and then - "I, who was once Headmaster of Hogwarts, surrender myself to the oath I swore. _Per sacrificium mihi, sino fieri_!"

A red flame joined the green one, and three other red flames quickly shot over to join them.

The crimson robed witch sighed as other flames of yellow and blue began to join the red and the single green. "If naught else, I have in truth worked long and well. Mayhap it be time for rest." She smoothed her crimson robe one last time. "I, once Headmistress of Hogwarts and Queen of this realm, do surrender me unto the oath I did swear. _Per sacrificium mihi, sino fieri_!" Another yellow flame joined the growing blaze.

Much red and yellow; fewer blues, and a solitary green which somehow seemed to glow with the brilliancy of emeralds.

The blue robed wizard looked wistful. "I shall miss the arguments. But everything must end eventually, and I suppose this is the logical thing to do." He sighed. "I, once Headmaster of Hogwarts, do surrender myself to the oath I swore. _Per sacrificium mihi, sino fieri_!" The blue flame danced across to merge with the others.

Very few portraits were occupied anymore as flames flew across the room like shooting stars.

"Well," said Armando quietly. "It's been fun, hasn't it, Dilys?"

"It certainly has," she smiled, wiping the tears from her face. "And what a way to go, hmm?" She breathed in, ready to say the words which would release the last of her spirit.

"Wait," he said. Then he whispered in her ear.

Her eyebrows rose. "Do you think it would work?"

"It's worth a try, isn't it?"

Dilys thought for a moment. "Yes. It is."

Armando said slowly, "Do you know… in my lifetime I never met a woman who could compare to you, Dilys Derwent."

She reached up and put her hand on his cheek. "And I never met a man so good and true as you, Armando Dippet."

A last shared smile, then they spoke together.

"We, who were once Heads of Hogwarts, surrender ourselves to the oaths we swore. _Per sacrificia nostrae, sinamus fieri_!"

And a flame, larger than the others and a shade of orange like that of living fire, joined the hundreds of magical lights in the centre of the room.

With all their number burning in the flames, the last of the spirits merged into a single astral fire, shimmering yellow, orange, red, blue… and brilliant green at the tip.

It moved through the wall of the study as if the wall did not exist, and hovered above the two sleeping figures on the bed.

Fawkes flew in through the open window and, to the counterpoint of haunting phoenix song, the spell was cast.

_Benedicte tua in omnes…_

The voice seemed to come out of the air itself… Chiming, like bells.

…_Virtuam es in innocenem…_

… singing, almost; ancient words swirling within the incredibly beautiful light which filled the chamber…

…_Munum libentem petiuisti…_

Intense light, soft light, compellingly lovely; music of both ear and eye…

…_Et libentem laborauisti…_

…singing, celebrating, blessing one who was in courage selfless, who had willingly sought and worked for her duty…

_In amor fidelis_

_Et in virtum fidelis es…_

… and who was in both love and valor ever true. Ancient words, a spell so rarely used – for of whom could it be spoken truly?

_Vitarum finitem bonam es iudicaramus_

The lights brightened; the single flame swirled faster, flashing colours which, had any but the phoenix been awake to see them, would have blinded them to look upon. The sacrifice had been named; and the sacrifice was everything. A final blessing…

_Benedicte tua, Minerva…_

And the astral flame itself exploded into hundreds of tiny flames, wizard fire, burning vivid white in the air, as the last words of the spell were completed.

_Per sacrificia nostrae_

_Vivebus! Vivebus! Vivebus!_

Fawkes burst into flame as the last syllable was spoken, his ashes falling almost neatly onto the floor; and a light brighter than the sun surrounded the sleeping woman on the bed, then seemed to fade into her. It was done.

As the flames slowly dwindled a single voice, no longer cold but still quite nasal, spoke softly.

"Be well, children; and gods bless you both."

Then the flames winked out.

**

Minerva McGonagall woke to warmth. A perfect, comfortable warmth, like waking on a summer's morning.

It was only a few mornings ago that she had wakened in Albus Dumbledore's arms before; but then she had been separated from him by layers of clothing and bedclothes. This morning there was nothing between them. She found herself blushing slightly at the realization.

It was probably quite foolish for a woman of her age to suddenly feel so shy – but she did. Had she really…

Well, obviously the answer was yes, given their current position. Minerva tilted her head up slightly to gaze into his face. His arms cradled her tightly even in his sleep.

She was in love with Albus. Albus Dumbledore. Her dearest friend was now much more.

And the cruelest thing was how little time they had now to be together, now that the world was at peace.

It was hard to believe she was dying. She felt so well! And so – completely happy.

But, whatever the time, at least she would have had this. But… would this make it harder on him when she was gone?

"No." Minerva blinked. Lost deep in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed that the sleeping face had changed, and that brilliant blue eyes had been gazing at her own face.

"Albus?"

"Beloved."

The blush returned, brighter than before. "Good morning, Albus." She wished her voice didn't sound so husky, and mentally Minerva blamed the tears of the night before. It was wrong of her to have burdened him with her own fears.

"Minerva." Long fingers tilted her head up to face him again. "There is nothing more in this world I could ask for than to be with you, and to hold you when you cry." And, as if to prove it, his mouth lowered onto hers in a gentle sweet kiss.

When the kiss ended, leaving her somewhat breathless, she pulled the bedclothes around her and rallied. "We… we should probably go down to breakfast, don't you think?"

"We could breakfast here."

"The students will be concerned." Albus's fingertips were trailing along Minerva's bare arm, and the touch was…

"I'm certain they will forgive us when they know the reason."

"Albus Dumbledore!" Moving quickly, Minerva had the top blanket wrapped around her body and was out of the bed almost before he knew what she was doing. He blinked in confusion.

"Minerva? What is wr-"

"I will not have the students discussing my… my private life!" She moved around the room quickly, hunting for her clothes.

"Our private lives," Albus corrected almost absently. "Minerva, I did not mean –"

"Then what else could you mean?" she demanded. She'd found her wand, ready to Transfigure the elaborate dress he had created the day before into a teaching robe. The thought of the students knowing… Minerva had not been amused when the rumours had swept Hogwarts only two days ago. To have such an experience again would be far from pleasant.

And this time, there would be truth in it. She stared at him in the sudden silence.

He got out of the bed, and moved towards her. "My Minerva, I would like – I want more than anything - to be able to tell the students that we –" Albus stopped in mid sentence, and stared at something just to the right of her.

She swung round to look. His gaze was locked on Poppy's silver talisman. What was so fascinating about that? Minerva was about to turn around again, when she realised what held him transfixed.

The silver metronome on the talisman had stopped ticking.

Hardly breathing, Minerva picked the object up. Still the metronome did not move. She shook it hard, and stared at it. Albus moved closer to see for himself.

It was completely still.

"Albus? Do you think –" She tried not to get her own hopes up. "Is it broken, do you think?"

He shook his head. "I don't see how."

They looked at each other for a long moment. "Poppy," they said together. Albus began to move swiftly to the bedroom door.

"_Accio_ dressing gown! Albus!" she cried out. He stopped, surprised, as she tossed the bright clothing towards him. "For heaven's sake, put something on!"

His bright eyes twinkled as he shrugged into the robe. "You may wish to take your own advice, Professor McGonagall."

She snorted and waved her wand quickly, twice. Suddenly he was wearing a robe of purple and gold, and the blanket she had wrapped around herself earlier was now her customary emerald attire. "You won't have any bedclothes left soon," Minerva pointed out somewhat apologetically.

"I feel I can stand the loss." Taking her suddenly nerveless hand, he pulled her toward the door, and into the study. Where, again, they both stopped in surprise.

Hundreds of empty frames lined the walls. Albus's eyes dimmed.

"Sacrifice," he murmured.

Minerva's own eyes widened as she took in that single word. "Surely – oh, surely, Albus, they wouldn't have. Not for me!"

He inclined his head.

"But I'm not the Headmaster of Hogwarts! And the portraits' oath is only for the Headmaster – or if Hogwarts is in grave danger. They can't have!"

Albus reached out, and touched her face. "Poppy must confirm it," he said gently. "But I can no longer feel their presences. I believe they have."

"Oh, Albus!" She felt like crying.

"Come," he said softly, and they moved into the stairwell and towards the infirmary.

**

Almost half an hour later, Minerva was ready to scream with frustration. The school nurse flatly refused to give her verdict until she was absolutely sure of the results.

Right now Poppy was bent over a small potions flask, her wand pointing at it, watching it intently. Albus, sensing her nervousness, reached over and gently squeezed her hand. Minerva gripped his hand tightly.

Then Poppy was turning around. Were those tears in her eyes? Minerva's heart sank.

"You're cured."

"What?"

Poppy smiled hugely. "You are completely well, Minerva. The energy drain has stopped permanently."

Then Minerva was enveloped by two people, being hugged – and for once, she didn't mind at all. She returned the hugs, and found that she was laughing. As were both Poppy and Albus. The nightmare was truly over.

When they had calmed somewhat, Albus asked quietly, "Poppy, would you please inform the rest of the staff? They should all be at breakfast now."

"Oh, yes!" Poppy almost danced out of the infirmary, anxious to spread the good news.

Minerva tried to regain some dignity. "When they hear I'm going to live after all, I'm going to be smothered by hugs."

"Possibly," Albus said absently. Then he waved his hand and sent a sealing spell at the infirmary's door.

"Albus, what are you doing?"

He turned back to her and pulled her close. "I feel we are entitled to a few moments of privacy." Then he was kissing her fiercely, and she felt herself melting in his embrace.

When he lifted his head, she had to cling to the support of his arms. He smiled down at her.

"My Minerva…"

They heard a thumping at the door, and the sound of their colleagues' voices filtered through.

"What on earth is going on with this blasted door?"

"Sprouty, dear, just move a little, would you? You're on my foot!"

"Payback for yesterday, Filius dear."

"Would you two children feel better if I assigned you detention, perhaps?" Ah. That would be Severus.

Minerva quirked an eyebrow. "We should probably let them in before they damage the door – or each other."

"In a moment," Albus said serenely. "Before we do, however…" His voice trailed off.

Both Minerva's eyebrows were now raised. The thumping grew louder.

"Albus, we really should let them in."

"Before that," Albus said almost shyly, "there is a question I would ask you, Minerva McGonagall. A question I have wanted to ask you for many years…"


	23. Fair Days Ahead

"Albus?"

"Yes, Minerva?"

"You know that I do trust you?"

"Yes," he answered, and the tiniest twinkle came into eyes that were the sunshine blue of the summer sky above them.

"And you know that I rarely question your decisions?"

He managed - just - to turn the involuntary snort into a passable cough. "Oh, absolutely," he said with a remarkably straight face. "You follow my orders without demur, Minerva McGonagall."

She arched her eyebrow but refused to take the bait, being intent on her original line of questioning. 'Then I may believe that you will not take offense at my next question, since I offer it without any sense of complaint or doubt?"

"You may ask me anything you ever wish to, my Minerva," Albus said tenderly, stopping their stroll and turning to face her. His smile was full of loving pride and a deep joy as he looked at her in the glorious mid-morning light. Sunlight shone on the braided hair; the lovely rose flush on her cheek; most of all, the smile in her own eyes, as she looked at him with love. He thought his heart would burst, it was so full of joy. He knew of only one way to express it, and rejoiced that he now could. Drawing her towards him, he blithely ignored her startled look and kissed her.

Her cheeks were even rosier when he finally raised his head. "Albus!"

He didn't remove his hands from her waist, but instead held her close. Despite her scolding tone, Minerva inwardly acknowledged that she never felt so happy than within his arms. But there were proprieties to be observed, and even now, it just wasn't appropriate -

He kissed her again, and proprieties forgotten in the wonder of it, she kissed him back.

Eventually, breathless, she gave up on trying to frame her question politely, and just asked it. "Albus, why are we in the graveyard?"

He took her hand and led her a few steps further on before answering her. "Because today of all days, my Minerva, I wanted to offer my most profound thanks."

Her face softened in understanding. Nearby were the white glimmering headstones of Dilys Derwent and Armando Dippet, who had both decided against marking their respective house colours on their tomb. Others however had not, such as the large ruby tomb of Fortescue, and the gleaming yellow topaz which housed the body that Muggles thought was in a tomb in Westminster Abbey. Other headstones of sapphire blue, white marble, yellow and red dotted the grounds, but only one was truly individual in this sacred ground where all were finally equal. Directly before them was the green malachite headstone of the only Slytherin headmaster of Hogwarts.

Moved by an impulse that she did not understand, Minerva plucked a rose from the bouquet in her hand, and placed it on the grassy mound under which Phineas Nigellus lay. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you all, for my life."

Albus took out his wand and pointed it at the flower. "_Crescere_."

The red rose grew roots which burrowed of their own accord into the ground. Leaves sprouting rapidly, the newly grown rosebush stood up, small, bushy and healthy, a living plant that rapidly covered both grave and much of the headstone, leaving only the gold engraved words of the headstone to glimmer brightly in the sun.

Then the budding roses bloomed - but instead of blooming red like the original flower, they bloomed pure white. The grave was a mass of living white, save for the green stone at its head. The scent that rose from the flowers was unlike anything Minerva had ever smelt from a rose before. Sweet, piquant, and beautiful.

Albus looked at his wand, then at the roses again, in total puzzlement. "I only meant for the rose to become a rosebush. Phineas once told me he liked flowers only when they were kept on the bush. But for the roses to bloom, and to change their colour - I have never seen that happen before."

Minerva was likewise baffled. "I don't understand it," she confessed.

He raised his wand to try to correct the spell, but Minerva was quick to pull his hand down. "They look - and smell - lovely as they are, Albus. Best to leave it, I think."

He studied it consideringly for a moment, still bothered by the fact that his spell had not worked as it should; but he could not gainsay her words. "A happy accident, you feel?"

"Something like that." The strange impulse that had led her to place the flower on the grave of a man whose portrait had always been unpleasant to her (and to everyone else as well) was still guiding her. She had a strong disinclination to alter the sudden beauty of his resting place. "We had best be moving on," she said briskly. "It's nearly noon, and we have a fair way to walk yet."

"Indeed," Albus agreed. But he stayed there still, searching for the right words.

How could he express his gratitude to the dead? Words addressed to empty air did not seem capable of carrying the full weight of his emotion; there could be no fervent clasp of hands, no meeting of understanding eyes which could express more than the longest speech ever could. He was struck dumb by his need to say the right thing to these people who had made the final sacrifice to give back to him - everything that made his life worthwhile.

Finally he spoke simple truth, an echo of her earlier words. "Thank you all, for my life."

Tears stood out in Minerva's eyes and she blinked them back resolutely. The scent of the new flowers hung in the air around them like a sweet benediction, and the graveyard seemed suddenly a remarkably friendly place in the bright sunshine.

But as they turned to leave, Minerva cast a puzzled glance backward. It had been some years since she had visited Hogwart's graveyard, but she could have sworn that the last time she had been there, the tombs of Dilys Derwent and Armando Dippet had been separated by several other gravestones - not side by side.

*******************************************************************

They moved towards a pavilion set up some distance away. Banners moved gently in the soft breeze, and the hum of a large crowd gathered around the pavilion became slowly audible.

Suddenly Albus stopped. She looked at him, startled.

"Cold feet?" The question came out of her before she could think.

"Never," he answered immediately, and her heartbeat began to calm down. "But before we go any further, my Minerva, I would ask you a question."

"Ask it," she said promptly.

"Minerva, why did you put yourself at such risk in performing that spell on Peter Pettigrew?" Albus burst out. "You had to have known how dangerous Permanent Transfiguration would be to you. Why was he worth such a risk?"

His blue eyes were troubled and demanding. It was obvious that, even though months had passed since her illness had been cured, the tension and worry of that time still lingered in him. She had acted at the time without real thought, and she took some time in answering, wanted to make clear to both of them what had driven her actions on that terrible night.

"I think," she said slowly, "that I felt responsible. Peter was my student, one of my boys; I knew him as an eleven year old, terrified of the dark. I remember him chasing after Sirius and James, ready to be their whipping boy if it meant being accepted. If I had done something then, back when I watched and saw the wrongness of it all, yet did nothing, then perhaps he would not have grown into the despicable crawling traitor he became.

"That night, watching him ready to betray anyone and anything in order to save himself - I was revolted at him. And I was revolted at myself, for the part I played in shaping him. That night, I felt it was worth anything and everything if it meant making him into something cleaner than the wretched human being he was.

"Then I remembered that spell. We were both Animagi. It seemed utterly right that I make whatever sacrifice was needed to reshape his life, since I had failed to help him back when he could have been helped."

They were both silent. Then Albus spoke gravely. "As someone once told me, Minerva, you are not responsible for another person's acts. He was the author of his own life, as are we all." He drew her towards him and gently kissed her forehead. "Never do it again, beloved."

She touched his face lightly. "I have too much to lose now."

Hand in hand, they moved towards the pavilion. Many happy and excited faces greeted them as they walked the long corridor; Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, other students of the past, students of today in awe of the legends they stood near. As they came closer to the beribboned tent, the faces became older; Amelia Bones smiled and nodded to them both as they passed by, Pomona Sprout wept unashamedly into a massive bouquet of hothouse flowers, while Poppy Pomfrey and Filius Flitwick tried to hide their tears behind colorful handkerchieves. Professor Vector stood behind them, in the ghostly company of Professor Binns, each trying hard to look dignified and unemotional - but their tremulous smiles and rapidly blinking eyes gave them away. Finally, at the center of the pavilion, on a raised white stage, stood Irma Pince and Severus Snape, both clad in formal golden robes and looking unexpectedly nervous.

But neither Albus nor Minerva felt any trace of nerves. It seemed absolutely natural and right to step up onto the stage, the whiteness of it mirroring their own robes and the flowers in Minerva's hair; to move in front of Severus and Irma and face one another, both of Minerva's small hands clasped in Albus's larger ones.

The twin streams of fire that shot out of Irma and Severus's wands were silvery bright. They wrapped around the enjoined hands of Minerva and Albus and clung tightly, growing brighter and brighter as the two spoke together.

"_Beloved thou art,_

_Beloved shalt ever be_

_Beloved in all of memory_

_So long as light endures_

_So long as love endures_

_So shall I be for thee_."

On the utterance of the last syllable, the soft radiance of the light around them became blindingly intense, as the intricate knot of the spell settled into them both. As the light dimmed, then faded, they turned to face their friends.

And the air was split with cheers.


End file.
